


There's a Machine Where My Heart Should Be

by writewithurheart



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M, Gore, Mentions of Rape, Tags to be added, Temporary Character Death, Violence, villain AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writewithurheart/pseuds/writewithurheart
Summary: The world they live in can be cold and cruel, so to survive they have to make choices.To Felicity Smoak, the world is comprised of cogs and wires. They make sense in a way nothing else does. The only problem is that her heart keeps getting in the way, until one day it doesn't. Her heart dies and she finds a way to push through it.To Thomas Merlyn, the world is full of scum. He was raised by a man with no morals and groomed to take his place. So when someone foils his father's plans, he will do whatever it takes to get those plans back on track.To Laurel Lance, the world is dark. She doesn't understand the frivolity of society, not when so much blackness lurks in the shadows of everyone's souls. There's darkness in her, more than anyone realizes, but it helps her so she embraces it and everything that comes with it.To Oliver, the world has the potential for life and beauty. He finds it in the babbles of a blue-eyed blonde. She gives him hope in a world that had stolen all his light. That hope preserves him. It saves him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geniewithwifi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniewithwifi/gifts).



> For the incomparable, geniewithwifi, as a Christmas gift and thank you present for her tireless help with Once More (and all it's offshoots). She is wonderful and amazing and I hope she likes this wonderful gift! 
> 
> Also, huge thank you to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline for her help editing this first section. It wouldn't be the same without her. 
> 
> Cover Art is courtesy of my little sister (who alas has no tumblr to which I can direct you but if you like the pic, leave a comment and I can pass it on).
> 
> I hope you enjoy this kickoff to a new multichapter fic! 
> 
> *WARNING: Violence and Character Death*

 

**There’s a Machine Where My Heart Should Be**

**…**

**Prologue**

She’s soaked. Freezing rain cements her clothes to her skin as she kneels behind the body of the monstrous steam-engine so she can tinker with the cogs and wires inside. She’s certain black grease mars her face as she struggles against time and pressure to complete her task. If the water didn’t make the gears so slippery, this would be a hell of a lot easier.

Normally, she would take the time to admire the mechanical marvel in front of her - because the machine was truly amazing - but the distant grunts and gunshots are a constant reminder that the only thing between her and death is a six foot two wall of muscle that passes for a man.  He’s a lethal blur of arms and legs as he fends off a handful of armed men trying to stop them from doing exactly what she’s doing right now.

_Ding._

She winces when a bullet glances off the metal casing of the engine as she attaches her own device to the inside of the machine. She curses creatively under her breath as she winds the cogs to set the trap with a twinge of regret. This is a masterpiece. It’s a pity they can’t take it with them. The things she could do with this kind of tech...

There’s no point attempting to brush the mud from her clothes as she rises to a crouch behind the body of the tunneling device. She raises her two-way radio to her lips as she peeks cautiously around the body of the machine. “Mission Accomplished, White Queen,” she reports. Her only response from base camp is static.

Her partner stands fifty yards away, now firing arrows at the men that around him as he draws attention away from her so she can do her job unmolested. Even from her perch, she can see the line of dark, red blood running down his arm. They’re not getting out of this without some serious help, the kind of help that the White Queen won’t offer the Suicide Squad. They’re stuck unless they can get to the extraction point.

Her shivering hand wraps around the warm handle of her only weapon: a small gun of her own design that packs a powerful punch. She’s got eight shots left, eight deadly bolts of lightning before the gun loses its charge. Eight shots against twenty enemies and only five minutes to get out of the blast radius.

She’s had worse odds.

She flips her power pack on as she throws herself out from behind the cover of the large engine, taking careful aim at the man between her and her hooded counterpart.

“Ready to go, Robin Hood?” she asks as she lights two up with quick, concentrated bursts of lightning. Two down and too many left standing.

“Get out of here, Clockwork.” The words are a low growl in her ear, muffled in the static of the headset. She can see his lips moving across the  compound. “We both know we’re not getting out of here together.”

“If you’re not leaving, I’m not leaving.” It’s a stupid sentiment, something she swore long ago she wouldn’t fall victim to ever again. She was in it for herself, not for anyone else. Except, against enormous odds, he’d actually managed to worm his way into her heart.

Another shot of lightning and another man crumbles into a pile of ash.

5 shots left.

She’s still half a compound away when the shadowy figure appears behind her partner. From her vantage, she watches as the shadow raises a gun, point-blank, at the back of her partner’s head.

“OLIVER!” The scream rips from her throat and burns as it escapes.

He turns just as the gun fires. A noise of pure agony echoes in the air, chilling in pitch and intensity as her heart is ripped from her chest and Oliver collapses to the ground.

The shadow steps forward so the light falls on his face. Her screech turns to pure rage. _Him_ , the man who just destroyed the only good person in her life. Oliver was the only person who kept her sane in the last two years. The man who shot him? Cooper...He was a ghost from her past, from her life before the Suicide Squad. She’d sworn to kill him for what he did to her and here he was ruining her life all over again. It was his doing that she was here, that she spent the last few years in hell, and now he just killed the man she loved.

It galvanizes her. Her blood freezes in her veins, so cold it freezes out her emotions as she takes careful aim at Cooper. The technology she’s been dealing with suddenly makes sense: it was all him. This was always about him. She won’t make it out of this, not without Oliver’s help, but she’s definitely going to take Cooper with her.

Felicity has enough time to let off one deadly shot before the mercenaries turn their weapons on her. Even then, she would have stood her ground until they killed her if the first shot hadn’t impacted the metal armor of her corset and sent her staggering back. She curses as it throws her shot off enough that Cooper can dodge certain death.

Apparently, it wasn’t so certain.

Mud makes the ground under her feet slippery as she scrambles to get away from the weapons all now aiming for her. If she can get them close to the machine, she could take them all out with her. It’s not the best plan, but it’s the only one she has.

She ducks flying bullets purely from instinct, fights off the pain of grazes and cuts, and struggles to maintain her precarious balance. It Oliver hadn’t forced her through the Squad’s obstacle course day after day this would be impossible, _especially_ with her corset. It’s pure luck her legs are unhindered by skirts on this mission.

Felicity pauses about twenty feet beyond the mechanical weapon, brought up short by the raging river she vaguely remembers as being too dangerous to swim across.

_“Clockwork, report. Status of camp?”_

Her breath comes in choked gasps as she turns her back to the river. They’ve stopped shooting now that they know she can’t get away and the enemy is slowly closing ranks, moving closer, cautious but steady.

“Robin Hood is down,” she dutifully reports. She covers the waver in her voice with gasping breaths of air.  “Camp will fall in 3…2…”

There’s shout, a gunshot, and crippling pain as she jumps into the river just as the generator explodes. Heat sears her back in a split second before the water embraces her, yanking her downstream with the racing current.

She feels the bomb collar around her neck release in the frigid water as she drifts into unconsciousness, her last wish is that she’d survived long enough to get revenge on the man who somehow always managed to decimate her happiness.

...

She wakes in a violent upheaval of water. It gushes from her nose and mouth as she struggles to clear her lungs. It burns as it comes gushing out of her. Her lungs ache, her throat feels raw, and her nose feels assaulted. Her entire body aches and tells her that she’s still alive.

She wouldn’t be in pain if she was dead, right?

It can’t be Hell. She’s Jewish, doesn’t believe in it, so that means she can’t be sent to Hell, right? Logically speaking, if she’s feeling pain, she must be alive.

Then again, she’s not exactly a good person. If she did believe in it, she would imagine she’s exactly the kind of person who would be welcome in Hell, the kind of person who would be tortured until the end of time. For a large part of her life she’s even embraced her darker nature.

She doesn’t deserve Heaven.

Which is a pity, because she’s pretty sure Oliver’s the kind of person they let in.

Blue eyes fly open to a gray sky, a sky so covered in clouds it looks like a wall of gray. She rolls over, crying out at the pain in her back as she struggles on the small sandy embankment. She manages to pull herself from the water and into a seated position to take stock of her status.

Every limb is already starting to bruise and shivers wrack her body as her wet clothes are exposed to the biting wind. She can’t feel her legs, can’t even wiggle her toes, but they’re there and there’s still blood flowing to them.

Next her hand moves to her neck, to the device that kept her chained to Miss Waller and her Suicide Squad.

A laugh of pure joy escapes her at its absence. It’s gone! It’s really gone. It wasn’t a dream. She’s really free, free to be her own woman, to love…

Just like that the joy is gone, evaporated in the cold wind, leaving her frozen and alone.

He’s gone. _Oliver’s_ gone and she’s alone again, alone in a world that had already chewed her up and spat her out. The safety and comfort he’d brought to her life were torn mercilessly from her grasp and all she’s left with is the small clockwork locket around her neck.

She blinks back warm, fresh tears as she stares at the river that saved her, twice.

_Alone._

_Lost._

_Likely to be dead soon._

She squeezes the locket in her hand until it digs into the fleshy palm of her hand, biting hard enough that it will leave an impression. She survived this long and she will continue. She will survive, endure, rise. This will not be her end.

She has a second chance, and she’s going to use it.

…

_Dark._

_Cold._

_Fear._

He can’t move, not a muscle, a twitch, anything…

_How did he get here?_

What…

_Felicity!_

The thought, which normally would have jerked him into action sent his heart racing at twice its usual speed. He remembered with vivid clarity, stunning technicolor and all those other clichés. He remembered it, just like he remembered every moment around the bright blonde.

She’d brightened his world since the moment she set foot in the A.R.G.U.S. detention facility, with her bright red lipstick and marvelous gadgets. Without trying, she’d become the one good thing about his situation. Her safety was his priority. He was just the distraction, the only thing between her and twenty or so thugs. It makes what they do for Waller a bit more tolerable.

He had been holding his own, but they were outnumbered and they weren’t going to get out of there, not together at any rate. He had run through all the scenarios. He could get her to safety, or at least hold them off long enough for her to get to the extraction point.

Then her scream rent the air.

That sound would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He remembers turning…

Then…

_BANG!_

A shot…

Oliver frowns. He doesn’t feel a wound of any sort.  Then again, he can’t feel much of anything.

_Is he dead? Is this what death feels like?_

No.

He’s starting to get feeling back in his fingers.

And the black of his surroundings aren’t as finite as he thought. He can make out shadowy shakes in the periphery of a larger room, which means he’s not floating in nothingness. He’s in a room.

_Squeak._

An old door hinge.

_Click._

Black becomes blinding white. The only thing Oliver can do is blink against the sudden intrusion of light.

“Mr. Queen? Good. You’re awake. We could use your help.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you so much for the excited response to chapter 1! This next section is a little different, so let me explain a bit first. It's not necessary to understanding so you can skip ahead if you don't feel like humoring me. 
> 
> This story actually spawned from two separate ideas that popped into my head based on a desire to write something steampunk-ish (a la Girl in the Steel Corset) and [this tumblr post](http://wondertwinc.tumblr.com/post/150737712823/i-think-hell-is-something-you-carry-around-with) by wondertwinc. The two ideas morphed together into this epic tale. It started with Laurel, Tommy, and Felicity as villains and then pieces just started to fall into place. This chapter sets up the other parties involved and I really hope you like it as much as i've liked writing it. 
> 
> Updates will be WEEKENDS or once I am suitably far ahead with my writing. The goal will be to post Saturday or Sunday, however, if I'm writing a HUGE amount, I may post more often. Yay! 
> 
> So, without further ado: Happy reading!

**Chapter 1**

**Two Years Later**

The electric bulbs buzz overhead, a low ambient noise in the dank, dark hallway where the only other sound comes from the measured steps that echo in the confined space.

It’s late, far too late for anyone but the occasional guard to be wandering the building, but there had been a break in two nights ago. A break in by itself was a minor inconvenience. Merlyn Global’s advances in technology are at the forefront of the new technological age. Any stolen prototypes that pop up will be easy to track. No, the troubling part of the incident is that there were no witnesses to the incident, only chaos in the aftermath.

Malcolm is on the warpath. It was his pet project that disappeared overnight. All of it, gone: machine, blueprints, and the creator. It had vanished without a trace. The only clue left behind was a card with an eye left in the middle of an otherwise empty room.

Of course, Malcolm reached the conclusion it was an inside job. What other possibility could it be? There was no way to move all that machinery without being noticed, certainly no expedient way to do it between the guards’ supposed walk throughs. And indubitably, Malcolm had put his most trusted man in charge of hunting down the leak.

Thomas Merlyn peels off his jacket, scowling distastefully at his blood-soaked sleeves. Some of his father’s goons find art in torture, in getting their quarry to sing, to spill their darkest secrets against their will. Thomas prefers the deadly dance of physical combat, the thrill that comes with the actually dominating an opponent, hunting them down, playing cat and mouse.

But no thrill compares to when he finds a worthy opponent, someone who makes him work for his victory.

It’s refreshing.

The guards weren’t much of a challenge. In fact, they hit a dead end: None of the guards saw or heard anything, which led him to the maim and torture section of the evening. They all broke under his attention, crumbling into pitiful sobbing messes and confessing their darkest secrets, which while interesting had absolutely nothing to do with the stolen machine. Now he has to hire three new brutes who know better than to take bribes from their competitors.

Merlyn Global pays its employees well, but Malcolm suffers no mistakes. And if the money isn’t enough of an incentive, Malcolm’s reputation for ruthlessness is usually enough to discourage espionage within their ranks.

“I’m sorry, Miss. You cannot be in here.”

Thomas stops and turns to face an offshoot of the hallway, toward the voice. He drapes the jacket over a chair and pushes up his sleeves, rolling up the edges so the blood is covered from view as he meanders toward the room he knows for a fact should be empty.

“Oh! Sorry! It’s my first day and I seem to have gotten disastrously lost.” The female voice laughs, light-hearted despite the fact that Thomas can see the guard pointing a gun in her direction.

He rounds the corner, peeking through the door to look at the young blonde woman in the room. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a fancy up-do and large spectacles sit on her nose. She throws Tommy a dazzling smile when she spots him.

“I’m so sorry I caused so much trouble.”

He moves to lean against the door. “And what brings you here, Miss…”

“Roberts,” she supplies with an unnecessarily sunny smile that borders on flirtatious. She’s either slow or putting on airs, neither of which he appreciates. She has to know she’s not in a good situation right now. And if she’s poor enough to be working class, she should really know better than to go wandering and getting into trouble. “Like I was telling your guard: today is my first day. And I seem to have gotten turned around.”

His smile slips from his face. “You’ll have to forgive me, Miss Roberts, but I’m in charge of hiring and I’m sure I would remember hiring someone like you.”

Her attire proclaims her a woman of class, of standing despite the unfashionable spectacles, _not_ a typical hire for Merlyn Global. She looks like the kind of girl society would miss if she stumbled on something she shouldn’t have, like now. He expects her to falter as she realizes the seriousness of her situation, to wilt as she realizes she’s talking to a _Merlyn_. Even if she doesn’t understand the more…malevolent side of her situation, he expects at least a little awe inspired by the famous name. Instead, the smile stays pasted on her face as she tilts her head.

“Of course. You’re Thomas Merlyn. I hear you’re looking for a thief.”

Oh, she definitely shouldn’t know that. His hand goes to the blade tucked into his waistband. He keeps his voice light. “What?”

She looks around the empty room with the same vacant, creepy smile. “You’ve lost something important. I can help you get it back.”

With a flick of his wrist, Thomas frees his knife and twirls it around his finger with a cold smile. “How about you tell me where it is and I consider letting you live. Merlyn Global doesn’t pay ransoms to thieves, even if they’re beautiful women.”

Her wide eyes blink almost mechanically behind her glasses. “You and I are after the same culprit, Mr. Merlyn. I propose an alliance-“

“So you don’t know where the device is?” He asks curtly. He’s spent more than enough time in interrogations already today.

Another head tilt. “I see you won’t listen at present. Fine. Come find me when you realize you’ve hit a dead end.”

With those final words, her body starts to jerk and shake like a phantasm is taking over her body. She convulses, eyes wide in fright. Blood leaks from a corner of her mouth and her eyes lose all sense of soul in the split second before she collapses in a heap on the floor.

It happens in a matter of seconds. Thomas pauses for a moment longer, waiting for the body to move. It’s the trickle of blood that rolls across the floor to the nearby drain that convinces him it might not be a ploy. Something actually happened to her.

“Jesus!” The guard crosses himself and lifts the cross on his necklace to kiss it.

Superstition has nothing to do with it, though.

Intuition spurs Thomas forward to examine the body. He brushes the hair away from her face with the flat of his knife and presses his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. There’s not even a flutter under his touch.

As he lets her hair fall back down, Thomas notices a small metal box at the base of her skull. He pokes it with the knife, but it sticks to her skin. He slides the blade under the device and applies a bit of pressure. It sticks to her neck, unwilling to relinquish its grip. Blood wells under the blade as he slowly leverages the device away from her skin.

_Sqqqquellllchhhh._

The small metal tab turns out to be much larger than it appears. Long, bloody tendrils hang from the tab like tentacles that had all hidden below the skin. Scarlet drops fall on from the tendrils to the spot the girl’s body and the concrete floor.

The guard turns and empties the contents of his stomach against the wall. The tendrils start to slowly retract into the metal tag as Thomas extracts a handkerchief from his pocket. Cautiously, as if the tag might hurt him, he tips the tag into the small pouch he’s created.

An etching in the metal catches the light. Thomas frowns as he squints at the design:

VIRUS

He scowls. Great. _She’s_ involved.

This just got infinitely more complicated.

…

“Really, Laurel, are you sure about this? You should have a child by now, secure your place in this life. You need a son. After all, we were lucky to find you a suitable husband at all with that whole nasty business when you were younger.”

Laurel Merlyn, née Lance, chops the potatoes in front of her more violently than necessary as her mother’s tirade continues, cursing her husband for staying late on the night her mother decided to call. She’d usually be out of the house by now.

“The Merlyns have been very good to you. Goodness knows why they have saved you from ruin, but it’s been a blessing.”

Laurel tests the weight of the knife in her hand. It might not be one of her throwing knives, but she’s reasonably confident in her ability to aim with accuracy.

It’s certainly sharp enough to kill her mother.

“And why are you shopping potatoes anyway, darling. You have servants for that.”

Laurel glances sideways at Cindy diligently adding ingredients to the stew for tonight. She looks up at the mention of servants, but Laurel waves her off. As much as she’s tried to explain to her mother that Sin’s like a daughter to her, she never understands. The concept of classes intermingling is beyond her perception, so much so that idea would never even occur to her.

Sin was nine when Laurel found her on the streets about to sold to a factory to pay off her father’s debts. She’d slit the throats of both Sin’s father and the factory owner for that disgusting transaction, and ruined a perfectly nice petticoat when she accidentally dragged it through the blood.  It had taken a while to bring the smile back to the girl’s face – and she’d been concerned about Thomas kicking both her and Sin out as soon as he spotted the orphaned girl – but five years later and there wasn’t a single regret. Laurel would do the same thing all over again.

“You, girl! Take over the potatoes!”

Tired of the constant nagging, Laurel stabs the knife point-first into the wooden board. “Mother, thank you for your superior wisdom. Perhaps you should head home to Father and to oversee your own supper.”

“Nonsense! I’m eating here, of course. Perhaps I can remind your husband of his duties tonight.” Dinah Lance stares back at her daughter with all the air and grace of a society matron who knew how to get away with forcing herself on others.

Laurel brushes her hands off on a towel. “Sin, tell Nina–“

“You have company and will call another time,” the girl finishes dutifully as she yanks the knife from the cutting board with a broad smile. “Will do, My Lady.”

Laurel discards her apron and straightens her skirt. She hates skirts. She hates the way it swishes to and fro, the way it tangles in her legs, the way it hampers her movements. For instance, if she wasn’t wearing the skirt, she could have run faster and escaped out the front door instead of turning into the front parlor with her mother on her heels. 

The parlor. Another thing she hates about society life. It’s literally a room for _sitting_ , for gossiping about the ne’er-do-wells of their social circle. It’s useful for gathering information, sure, but she doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand the purpose of visiting others in society just to sit and _talk_. Who _wants_ to sit around all day?

Her mother. That’s who.

“Finally! Laurel, darling, you really do need to hire more servants. It’s not like the Merlyns aren’t rolling in money.”

“Thomas and I prefer to do our own work, Mother.” Not that her mother understands that. The only work her mother ever did was train her daughters about what was expected in society, a job she took very seriously. “We have enough servants to do what must be done.” All supremely loyal to them.

Most are rescues from the street, which comes in handy in its own right.

Dinah purses her lips. “People will start to talk, you know. About you and Thomas, about why you’re not pregnant yet, about your lack of servants, about how little you go out in society. Really, dear, I haven’t seen you at a single gala this month. There are already _rumors._ ”

 Oh, the horror…

Laurel turns to face the wall to roll her eyes where her mother won’t see the action. “We’re going to the Queens’ on the morrow for Thea’s coming out.”

Dinah heaves an exasperated sight. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re actually my daughter.”

And there it is. Like Laurel isn’t the golden daughter who behaves, the one who married to better her family, the one who puts on a smile and pretends that everything is perfect. She tries so hard to please her mother, but it’s futile. Free-spirited Sara somehow manages better while still courting the less savory side of society.

Laurel doesn’t know how she does it.

_Slam._

The front door closes with more force than normal, which means he didn’t have the greatest day. Laurel relaxes back into her seat. At least she won’t be the only one stuck here with her mother. She almost feels bad for what she’s about to do.

“Thomas, love,” she grimaces at her mother in an attempted smile. “Come into the parlor. We’ve got a guest.”

He pokes his head into the room with his ‘society smile.’ “Ah, Mother! You’ll have to excuse me for another moment. I’m afraid an accident in the workroom left me unsuitable for company.”

Laurel narrows her eyes, but Thomas pays her no heed, escaping with her mother’s well-wishes and leaving her again with the witch again.

“No doorman, Laurel?”

The condensation drips off her mother’s voice. Someone alert the authorities: There’s no hope for her now. Everything she does is apparently the height of impropriety. Maybe if she faked pregnancy symptoms, her mother would suspend the nagging briefly.

“We have an automaton for that, Mother, but he only answers the door for guests, never for Thomas and I.” They are perfectly capable of hanging up their own cloaks.

Dinah tuts, too refined to snort at the idea and too set in her ways to accept the slightest technological advances. “Machines! They have no place in high society.”

Laurel sighs. No. Of course not.

“I have to disagree with you there, Mother,” Thomas counters as he steps back into the parlor as his dapper society-self. “Automatons are the future.”

“Oh! Thomas, you look well!”

Oh, look at that! Everything’s fantastic again. Laurel rolls her eyes and rises to pour Thomas a glass of whiskey. She takes her own fortifying sip before handing it over with a desperate look that demands he get her out of here.

He almost looks sympathetic before her mother reclaims his attention.

“No huge problems at the factory, I trust.”

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Thomas agrees as he takes a seat beside Laurel. His hand lands on hers where it plays with the handle of the knife in her garter, accessed through a discrete slit in her skirt. “So what brings you here today? Trouble at home?”

Dinah frowns at the implication but can’t call Thomas out because he hasn’t said anything directly. It’s an allusion only family would catch on to, and while Laurel can’t dish it back to her mother, Thomas can and does. In fact, he seems to derive immense pleasure from it.

And they all know about Quentin’s drinking problem.

“No. Not at all. I just wanted to visit my daughter and her husband. You’ve been absent for a while.”

“Laurel and I have been preoccupied.” He smiles at her. It’s a soft smile that almost mimics love. It’s almost like he means it. “We just don’t want to curse it by talking about it.”

Lord knows her mother’s going to latch onto that idea and run with it. She’ll probably start getting baby clothes within the week. It will at least soothe her mother. She already has that insipid, pleased little smirk on her face as she stands eagerly.

“Well, of course. In that case, let me get out of your hair. I wouldn’t want to get in your way.” Dinah makes a quick exit, all smiles and bright apologies for her intrusion. It’s like she’s a different person.

“I’m not getting pregnant,” Laurel says as soon as the door closes on her nightmare of a mother.

Thomas snorts. “I know that. Now your mother will stop hovering. I thought you were going after Nina’s father tonight.”

“I thought you would be back sooner.” She brushes past him straight to the refurbished ballroom, not in the mood to talk about the plans that would have been perfect if her mother hadn’t made her impromptu visit.

She throws the double doors of the ballroom open with zeal. She’d survived her mother by thinking about this room.

The walls are lined with all manner of weapons: from swords to bows to guns to crossbows to batons. And on either side of the room are two suits, facing each other as if they were real people. Laurel crosses to hers – a black, leather masterpiece – and the large array of throwing knifes that had miraculously never been aimed at her mother…at least not when her mother would notice.

Modesty is long gone in this room as Laurel changes in the open. It’s not like Thomas hasn’t seen her completely naked. They _were_ married. And she’d been curious about sex. She’d enjoyed the experience and repeated it from time to time, but they weren’t like other married couples, clamoring to have children to uphold the family name. It was a distraction, a way to relieve tension.

And these moments, when she’s donning her alter ego, are not the time for such trysts. No. Now, they are all business.

“Virus is looking into our robbery. I need your birds to find out what they can. I want to know where she is.”

Laurel tightens her leather corset and glances over her bare shoulder at her husband. “Anything else?”

He picks up her necklace, a marvelous invention he had given her on their wedding day. The gearwork voicebox in the center of the necklace transforms her screams into a physical wave of sound capable of shattering glass and throwing grown men around.

It was her favorite gift from that day.

“Don’t get caught.”

She grins at him as the necklace lock clicks into place. “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this! Please let me know what you thought. <3


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to post. It's unedited, but it's long. I'm loving this fic and I hope you like it just as much!

**Chapter 2**

**Five Years Ago**

_ “Did you get it?” _

_ Felicity throws side-eye at Cooper who has the nerve to question her abilities. She hikes her skirt up and pulls out her trophies from where they’re stashed. “Like you even have to ask?” _

_ Cooper grins as he snatches the gears and bits of wires from her hands. “You are a goddess among women.” _

_ She straightens her skirt and rounds the work bench to look over Cooper’s shoulder as he pops her recently-acquired pieces into place. Felicity brushes scattered springs and unneeded casing out of the way so she can lean on her counter. She tests the rotation of a cog and sighs. “We’re still missing pieces.” _

_ “And we’ll get them. I’ll slip another coil from the factory at the end of my shift. You can grab some more pins…” _

_ “From the club?” Felicity supplies. She hates how people tiptoe around the name, like it’s a dirty word. “Or do you prefer Den of Iniquity?” That’s one of her favorite speeches when the religious fanatics appear outside the gambling den and adjoining brothel. She grew up chasing her mother’s skirts around the Gentleman’s Club. She first learned about machines and moving parts by building and rebuilding the steadily growing amount of technology in the club. _

_ She might have been born there, but her mother made sure she never had to work in the brothel. Not that she could ever erase the stigma that came with her background. Donna Smoak had never let it get to her though. The Smoak women didn’t need men to sustain them. It was a living. The only other option would be domestic work…and the Smoak women were useless at that. It was a truth universally acknowledged. _

_ Felicity tried it once. She hadn’t even lasted a day. _

_ Cooper wouldn’t admit it, but he still had trouble with her past, even though she insisted she had nothing to do with the brothel. _

_ “Uh…yeah…the Club. Are you sure you’ll be okay? Isn’t it risky for you to go in there-“ _

_ “I know you weren’t about to ask if I needed a guard to walk into the place where my mother raised me.” She gets it. She’s a pariah to the rest of society – the daughter of a whore – but that place is the only place she’s known love and kindness. There she learned how to pick pockets, how to read people, how to flirt, how to blend in. _

_ Cooper shifts uncomfortably. “Of course not. We’re just so close. Once we finish this…” _

_ Felicity grins. “I know. A fully functional master control, an all-access device. We’d have control over every automaton in the city, in the world. Imagine what we could do!” _

_ Cooper laughs and yanks her away from the counter. She squeals as he turns the move into a dance, swinging her around and into his arms. She dissolves into a fit of laughter as they sway to non-existent, off-beat music. He twirls her as he starts to hum off-key. _

_ She trips over her toes and Cooper’s as she attempts to keep up with his changing tempo. Laughter accompanies their manic dancing, echoing around the abandoned warehouse that makes up their home. It’s mostly made of cluttered worktables full of failed experiments, with bits of wire and scrap metal on every available surface. It wasn’t much, but it was home. _

_ “I have to go, my lady.” Cooper gives an exaggerated bow as he sweeps his hat off the counter with a flourish. “I will return in ten hours’ time, with the parts we need. Think of me oft.” _

_ The door closes behind him with a dull thud. It lets in a burst of chilly autumn air and Felicity retreats to the coal furnace, which both heats their home and generates the steam that powers their homemade generator. They’re completely off the electronic grid. No one knows they’re here. _

_ Then again, neither of them has any relatives alive to care where they live. _

_ Felicity pushes such depressing thoughts from her head. _

_ Their universal key calls to her, a siren call she doesn’t try to resist. She saunters over and pokes at the box. Driven by an instinct that only comes from years of fiddling with technology, Felicity dismantles what precious little progress they’ve made. She lays the pieces out across the table, tapping a gear against the table as she hums under her breath. _

_ The pieces are mismatched – an array of colors and newness – but that’s what Felicity loves about them: their condition doesn’t affect their operation. The shape, the material: that’s what effects their effectiveness. Carefully, she replaces each piece, shifting one or two as she finds better fits. It’s all about finding what fits. _

_ Once she’s content with the order, Felicity moves across the room to another work table. She adjusts the fingerless gloves to keep her hands warm as she hops onto the one stool they have. This table is far more organized than the other ones. The chip in the center was her pride and joy, the child of her mind. It was a thin wafer covered in thin metal lines designed to conduct electricity. It would be the brain of their creation, the single entity that determined the success or failure of their endeavor. _

_ She was reasonably certain she could do this. Despite no formal training, she’d used to sneak into the men’s college at night and she’d read text after text. Then she had discovered the work places. It just all made sense in her mind, the way things worked. So she had learned, taught herself every way she could. When Professor Steele had discovered her, she was sure it would be jail for her. But against all odds, he’d taken her under his wing. _

_ For a year, she’d lived under his roof, well-fed and warm. It had been the happiest she’d been since her mother passed. But, of course, that had all disappeared the night he was murdered. He’d left her a treasure trove of knowledge, and a large stack of books. It was the only thing the lawyers had allowed her. She’s sure Walter left her more, but as a street urchin, she didn’t have the resources to back her up against the oppressive lawyers. _

_ She’d met Cooper three days after the funeral. He’d been trying to pick a lock and was failing miserably. One thing had led to another, and now, a year later, they were here and so close to completing their plan to bring down the upper crust a couple levels. _

_ “You’d love this technology, Walter,” Felicity muses as she shoves an iron into the coal fire to heat. “You might not approve of its use, but this gadget will be truly revolutionary. You’d probably find a noble purpose or give a speech about my potential for good, but you were too good. You and my mother both.” _

_ She pulls a worn leather glove, blackened at the fingertips, and yanks the soldering iron from the coals. With her free hand, she pulls on a set of goggles so she can weld the end wires into place. The effect is yet another tentacle extending from the chip. _

_ That should do it, should complete the circuits and finalize the device, once they have the gears they need. They’ve almost got it. _

…

_ “Cooper, I’m not sure about this.” The chill of the night bites at her skin and fogs her breath in the air in front of her. Felicity clenches her hands in her pockets, which were hardly the protection against the cold that she thought they were. Rather, she wasn’t excited about using the dead of the night to test their key for the first time and the cold being one of the reasons. Their warehouse was nice and warm, but nooooooo. Cooper had wanted to test the newly completed device. _

_ “It’ll be fine, love. Just trust me.” _

_ Maybe she’s developing a conscience. She really hopes not considering she gets her money from rigging automaton fights and most of her other work is...less than legal. But there’s something about tonight that doesn’t sit right with her. _

_ The street is dark save for the new electric lights that buzz along the street, a buzz only audible because the whole city appears to be asleep. Even here, in the heart of town, there’s no one around. Back in their dilapidated, run-down part of town, there were signs of life: coughing piles of rags, women roaming the street in search of customers, drunks celebrating the night. By city hall, the lack of people was disturbing. It made Felicity feel like she was being watched. _

_ She didn’t like that feeling. _

_ “Cooper…” _

_ “It’s almost there.” He squints in concentration at the lock. _

_ She really should have put her foot down about this. The device isn’t ready. It hasn’t been tested and breaking into the government building really doesn’t seem like a terribly great idea for a trial run. Her eyes track over the street again in search of the gaze that she feels unsettling her. _

_ There’s nothing. _

_ “I’m in! Told you this would work.” Cooper pulls her in for a kiss and Felicity sinks into it with a giddy giggle. She’s just becoming neurotic. Cooper’s right: everything will be fine. He pulls away to grin at her. “Now let’s go find those new automatons.” _

_ For a government building, security is surprisingly lax. The state of the art doors that Cooper and Felicity walked through might stop most criminals, but she still would have expected more than the single overweight guard they snuck past to get to the stairs leading to the basement. _

_ According to Cooper and the electric power supply Felicity had managed to tap into, the basement was taking a huge drain of power for the last couple weeks, around the same time the mayor announced that the police force would be supplementing their numbers with new automatons to ‘increase the safety and order of their beautiful city’. So far, all the new cops had done was attempt to clean out the slums by arresting without prejudice, meaning anyone out after the sun went down. Cooper’s friend Myron had been one of the first victims of this new curfew. The fact that he was probably guilty didn’t really matter to Cooper or Felicity. This night was turning into a kind of revenge. _

_ “Well, I’ll be damned.” _

_ Felicity rises on her tip toes to get a look over Cooper’s shoulder halfway down the stairs. The sight in front of her sends her back a couple steps. Hundreds –  _ hundreds –  _ of automatons stand in perfect rows and columns, set in their orderly lines and stare straight ahead. They may be powered down but their lifeless eyes still stare accusingly and make Felicity feel like she’s been caught. _

_ “What now?” Felicity shifts around Cooper to continue to the concrete floor of the basement. The automatons are even larger as she gets closer. They tower over her, not that it’s hard, but it’s still a point of reference. They have to be at least seven feet tall. If they weren’t machines Felicity would probably be shaking in fear. But machines don’t scare her. She knows their most intimate parts. No matter what size, a machine is still cogs and wires, and if you understand that, there’s nothing to fear. _

_ Cooper hops the last couple of steps to land beside Felicity. “Now, love, we find the control panel, and tomorrow, we create chaos!” _

_ The panel itself is relatively easy to find: a huge metal box with controls and the radio antenna used to broadcast orders. From there, it’s easy to install her interceptor, to transfer control to her universal key via that same antenna, the system now designed to work against itself. It would look like everything was functioning properly when in reality her machine would be giving the commands. _

_ Cooper’s hands catcher her around the waist as she leaps from the console with a laugh. “This is just the start,” he says. He turns the machine over in his hands as they walk arm in arm back up the basement steps. “Just imagine what we can do with this technology.” _

_ They’re cocky. That’s the only explanation she can think of for what happens next. _

_ The door to the basement opens right into the singular security guard on duty that night. Cooper and Felicity stop on the top step, paralyzed at the in surprise just like the guard freezes in shock. For a moment, no one moved, both parties too stunned to act. _

“Brad? You see anything?”

_ The crackle of the radio at his hip spurs them all into action. _

_ Brad drops his lantern to the ground with a loud clang. It rolls across the floor as the man reaches for the gun at his waist. Felicity frantically gropes for the dagger always tucked into the edge of her corset, compact but sharp enough to leave an impression. It’s Cooper though, who gets to his weapon first. _

_ She wasn’t even aware that he  _ had  _ a gun much less that he brought it with him. She was under the impression that Cooper was more inclined to fist fights and strategic maneuvering. The second it appears, Cooper fires the first shot. _

_ The shot echoes in the open corridor, a dark omen that seems to drag the Grim Reaper into their company. _

_ It deafens Felicity. Her whole being rings as she turns to follow the bullet’s trajectory. With equal concussive force – or at least it feels that way to her in that moment – the guard’s gun falls from his own hand to clatter on the tiled floor. The man clutches his chest, but even that pressure can’t stem the flow of scarlet blood seeping across his shirt as he falls to his knees and then forward. _

_ As blood spreads in a scarlet circle across the floor, sound comes rushing back, Cooper’s panicked babbling reaching her ears along with the voice over the radio. _

_ “ _ BRAD! Report! Brad, come in! Are you alright? I heard a shot!”

_ “Oh my God…I just shot him…I shot a man…do…do you…do you think he’s…dead? Oh, God…Oh, no…” _

_ “ _ Hold on, Brad. I’ve already called the police. Just hold on!”

_ Felicity takes a shuddering breath and steps forward, lifting her skirts to keep them out of the spreading red stain. She presses two fingers under the guard’s chin to find a pulse. Her resolve stops the bile in her throat from rising as it becomes evident that the man on the floor is indeed dead. Whoever his coworker called, they’re going to be too late. _

_ “Oh, God. Is he…he’s dead, isn’t he?” _

_ Cooper quails under the glare Felicity levels at him. Why would he bring a gun if he couldn’t handle the consequences of using it? She doesn’t have time to coddle him after this mess that he created. She grabs his gun and wipes it off on her skirt before she tosses it into the puddle of blood. “Come on. We need to leave before back up gets here.” _

_ She ignores the rest of his protests as she races out the same door they entered and into the black night just moments before the red and blue lights of the police appear around city hall. _

_ But the image of the guard on the floor…it haunts her until the morning sun sets the sky aflame and she can finally relax into sleep. _

_ … _

_ “This device is a beauty!” _

_ Felicity grimaces from her spot on the tavern barstool as Cooper holds her universal key aloft from his spot by the fire. It’s a meeting, for the notorious of Starling, the criminals who live in the underbelly of the city, operating in the darkest shadows. _

_ Except they don’t. _

_ Felicity knows true villainy, she’s witnessed it, in the hooded, cold eyes of the creatures who murdered Walter and her mother. Those figures had been truly evil. They had plans, machinations that governed their lives. Their chessboard was far more than the decrepit part of the city called the Glades. She’d heard it from Walter as he lay dying: they controlled the city with an iron fist, unseen from the shadows. _

_ Cooper and his friends played at villainy, at murder. _

_ “It gives us complete control over those new police automatons the mayor insists on showboating. With this device we can turn them against the police.” _

_ Today is the cute display of prowess where they swap stories about their latest triumphs like they’re measuring their own masculinity. Felicity sips at her cheap wine as she watches the men. Some are more engaged than others, but the one that catches her eye is the new man, leaning against the wall beside the fireplace, the shadows from the flames lending him anonymity. _

_ While the rest of the men look skeptical at the small machine’s abilities, he seems to be watching calmly from the sidelines as the men incriminate themselves in front of an audience. Felicity snorts. She’d always thought this was a bad idea. The little ‘club’ used to be exclusive, just him and a couple friends from the factory who liked to talk anti-establishment agenda. Now the circle has grown and Felicity can’t put a name to every face she sees. It bugs her, that Cooper is so willfully reveals what should be the backbone to taking control of the police force, an accomplishment they could use to leverage themselves into a position of power. _

_ But he’s never been one for subtlety. _

_ As much as letting Cooper take credit for her invention chafes her ego, at least it keeps incriminating evidence off her. _

_ And it’s not like they’ve used the device in a public display, not yet. _

_ “I CAN PROVE IT!” Cooper crows _

_ Felicity finishes her glass of red wine and places it on the bar beside her as she rolls her eyes. Andy, the bartender, pours her another glass. She reaches into her purse to pull out a couple coins but he waves her off. _

_ “On the house.” _

_ She purses her lips. “You know, Andy, one of these days your boss is going to find out you’re letting me drink for free and you’re going to lose your job.” _

_ He laughs. “You only come with those idiots and they drink enough to pay for this place each month. I think I can give you some wine.” _

_ She toasts him with her fresh glass and glances back at the crowd. “What would your boss have to say about them?” _

_ “He’d probably do what you’re doing: have a drink and roll his eyes.” _

_ Felicity grins. “So this is a cover for a more nefarious operation!” She feigns triumph, but she’s known that since the days her mother was still alive. The Star was one of her regular appointments. Felicity never found out who she visited in the tavern, but she always came home with a little jingle in her pocket and the colorful sign behind the bar was definitely a remnant of Donna Smoak’s occasional ventures into art. That’s why she started coming here. _

_ Andy just smiles at her and moves down the bar to serve another patron. _

_ “I’m more interested in  _ how _ it works.” The man in the shadows has finally spoken! He emerges from the shadows with a black eyepatch covering one eye as he sizes Cooper up. One glance is all it takes to know this man is tougher than the rest of the two-bit criminals that usually find themselves crowded into the tight space. He’s got scars intertwined with tattoos and his one eye is cold, calculating. “How can that tiny thing reach to every single automaton in the city?” _

_ Cooper’s grin turns wolfish, like the newcomer is prey in his trap. _

_ Felicity tilts her head. Her partner really isn’t the cleverest, but she’d think he’d recognize the obvious ploy to get him to talk.  _

_ “That’s the ingenuity of this machine: it doesn’t have to. It just has to reach the control station in City Hall.” _

_ Apparently not. _

_ The man’s grin only serves to motivate Cooper to brag more, to flaunt knowledge he shouldn’t have. _

_ “There’s a small receiver hidden on their control unit. It interrupts the signal and allows me to take over. All the idiots in the government will think everything is working seamlessly until I decide to step in. Any deviations from protocol will appear to be defects from City Hall. It’s untraceable.” Cooper winks at Felicity before turning in triumph to the newcomer. “Would you like a demonstration?” _

_ With boisterous cheers, the men surge out into the streets, to witness firsthand what the device can do. The man with the eyepatch moves slowly to the bar and leans against the counter. He glances at her with the one eye and moves closer. _

_ “A girl like you shouldn’t be alone in a place like this,” he says, suggestive leer included. _

_ Felicity looks him over just as openly before taking another unimpressed sip of wine. “Try anything and you’ll be missing another eye.” _

_ He laughs, turning back to bar. “So, you can take care of yourself, huh?” _

_ “I grew up around here,” she counters. “You look like you just got into town. I could gut you and no one here would say a word.” _

_ “Or the magician over there could get the police to look the other way.” He gestures out the door where the men’s drunken cheers are lifting into the night. _

_ “Aren’t you the one who was asking for a demonstration?” She turns to rest her back against the bar so she can see him and the rest of the room at one time. _

_ “Not for me. My…boss is interested in the effectiveness of the device. She’s the one who wants the example. So if you’re fishing for information, there it is. I’m here scouting talent. Personally, I’ll be surprised if the boy has it.” _

_ Felicity scowls but doesn’t counter him. Cooper is smart. He’s just got a big mouth and no patience, but she loves him. He’s the only one who understands her genius, who gets her drive to learn more. Machines, he understands. He tinkers with them in his free time. But, no, this gadget isn’t his, even if she let him help construct it. _

_ “That was incredible!” _

_ “Amazing!” _

_ “And when that automaton hit the cop with him-“ _

_ The visitor snorts into his drink. “Are they always this stupid?” _

_ “Worse,” Andy and Felicity say simultaneously as the men continue to holler and cheer for whatever obnoxious, going-to-get-them-caught display Cooper just put on. _

_ “How did you do it, Seldon? How did you get control of their signal?” _

_ They crowd settles back into their corner, Cooper standing before the fire and sauntering around like he’s a gift from heaven. The strut is pretentious, self-indulgent, and obnoxious. Felicity is struck by the unusual desire to slap the smirk from his face. But this device is her baby, her greatest accomplishment, and he’s taking credit. _

_ “It was two nights ago.” Cooper crouches, setting the scene for his story. “I knew I needed to get control of the main radio station, which is in the basement of City Hall, surrounded by the police and security guards, and a whole legion of these automatons.” _

_ Felicity spins away from the scene as she takes another sip. _

_ The man beside her shakes his head. “City Hall security is a joke.” _

_ Doesn’t Felicity know it. What’s more concerning at the moment is this newcomer who demonstrates a much healthier knowledge of when to keep his mouth shut. He’s still here, gathering information if she had to guess. _

_ “Who’s he trying to impress?” _

_ Felicity can’t help but agree with him as Cooper recites a sequence of events far more dramatic than the actual infiltration of City Hall that involves outthinking several more security guards and cops than they actually saw. When he gets to the basement and the attack of several of the autoboots that suddenly awoke and tried to stop him from placing the new antenna, Felicity actually laughs. _

_ The new guy turns to look at her curiously. _

_ “What’s so funny?” _

_ She considers him. She doesn’t want to reveal her part in this venture, but the knowledge she has is objective, not based on being there in person. She leans closer. “Automatons, only the most advanced prototypes can activate without a command and the ones utilized by the police force are the most basic model. There’s no way they would have activated without a command.” _

_ “But it makes the story so much more interesting.” He counters. “So what do you think? Did he try and fight some of them or is this all made up?” _

_ She shouldn’t laugh, not at Cooper, but she has to admit the idea of Cooper pretending to fight the bots entertains her.  _

_ “Then, just as I was ready to escape, one of the guards found me. He rounded the corner as I emerged from the basement, already radioing to his buddies so I knew more wouldn’t be far behind.” Felicity doesn’t need to look to know Cooper’s acting out the scene. “I had no choice. I couldn’t avoid him, so I had to shoot him. He knew what was going to happen. It was him or me. I drew my gun and shot.” _

_ There’s the expected moment of silence to raise the drama. _

_ “He crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap and I ran. I slipped away, just before the police arrived on the scene.” _

_ Eyepatch twists to throw a disbelieving glance over his shoulder. “I’ll bet you he freaked out for a solid fifteen minutes after he shot the guard.” _

_ Felicity smiles. If she had let him, he’d probably still be freaking out. As it was, as soon as he had gotten away from the blood and truth of the incident he’d suddenly felt better. With the exception of increasingly risky displays like the one tonight. _

_ “Lawton, we’ve seen enough. Let’s go,” a gruff voice orders behind Felicity. It’s decidedly female, cold. Felicity glances back at a woman of Asian descent as the woman looks her over as well. “Unless you want to stay. The White Queen does not like detours.” _

_ White Queen. Now that sounds like a moniker for an evil entity. Felicity turns away from the pair and exchanges a look with Andy behind the bar. He watches Eyepatch and the woman leave as he cleans a couple glasses. It leaves Felicity feeling uneasy. _

_ Cooper stumbles into the bar, not soothing that anxiety as he demands: “Another round, barkeep!” _

_ “See you at home,” she says as she taps the bar, laying down enough coin to help put a dent in Cooper’s tab for the evening so long as he doesn’t continue to make ridiculous claims, which doesn’t seem likely. She’s sure he’ll be intoxicated when he finally stumbles home but she’d rather not see the revelry over something she finds ridiculous. _

_ She draws her oversized coat closer around her as she walks out into the cold. She notices Eyepatch standing at the corner as the woman with him talks into a radio, but she just pulls her coat tighter around her and walks away. She doesn’t want trouble. And they are trouble. _

_ … _

_ When Cooper doesn’t come home that night, she starts to worry. At least until he stumbles in just before lunch. He crashes into the counter and drinks greedily from the faucet without so much as a word of greeting. Felicity tightens the last bolt on her latest invention –  an electronic blaster – as he moves on to the loaf of bread on the counter that she pilfered on her morning walk-about. _

_ Only after he’s finished one chunk and moved on to the next does he turn his attention toward Felicity. He grins. _

_ “’Morning.” _

_ Felicity slides off the stool with a smile. “Rough night?” _

_ He chuckles, a grimace at the pain in his head. “You could say that. I woke up in a heap on Jasper’s floor, with only a jacket as my blanket. But let’s get back the celebrating.” He holds up the device with a grin. “It works!” _

_ “So I heard,” she smirks, rising to her toes to press a kiss to his lips. “You put it to use last night.” _

_ “Yes, I did.” _

_ She rolls her eyes. “You shouldn’t be showing off so much. It’s going to get you in trouble.” _

_ He kisses her solidly and she gets the stale aftertaste of last night’s liquor still on his breath. He pulls back with a grin. “Relax. There’s nothing to worry about.” _

_ “And if someone in a place of authority got wind of what you were doing?” _

_ “As if anyone important would make their way into The Star.” _

_ His dismissal is reckless. Sure there was no one on the other side of the law there, but there were people who started to take notice and she didn’t like the interested looks he had gotten, not from Eyepatch, and not from his companion. He kisses away her disapproval as he maneuvers her backwards until her knees hit the back of the bed. _

_ He pulls away and Felicity smiles up at him. Damn him, but she’s never been able to stay mad at Cooper. She wraps her arms around his neck and leans into him. _

_ “Just be more careful next time,” she implores. “There’s no need to get yourself killed because you wanted to brag.” _

_ Another kiss. “Fine. For you.” _

_ “Thank you.” Felicity returns the kiss, giggling as she pulls away. She lets the joy of success finally bubble up. “It really does work, doesn’t it?” _

_ He laughs as they fall into bed. “Yes, my love, it does.” _

_ The blast of cold from the open door alerts her to the intruder moments before an emotionless, taunting voice sends a chill down her spine: _

_ “Well, what do we have here? Lovebirds?” _

_ Cooper scrambles away from her as Felicity grabs for the gun in her nightstand. An arrow embedded in the wood of her night table before she can reach the weapon and she spins to face the invading trio. _

_ The hooded archer knocks the gun from Cooper’s hands with another arrow as Eyepatch levels a gun evenly at each of them. Gone is the eyepatch of yesterday, in its place a glowing red contraption that appears to focus and narrow in of its own volition. If this wasn’t a life-threatening situation, she would ask to take a look. _

_ “Who are you? What do you want?” Cooper demands. _

_ “Kind of you to ask,” Eyepatch snarks. “Hand over the device, and maybe we’ll let you live.” _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Still intrigued?


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...these updates are apparently just going to be whenever I finish the chapter. The good news: the chapters are getting longer! Yay! The bad news: I'm working on a couple different projects so they'll probably be a couple weeks between chapters. 
> 
> Anyway: take a look at the updated warnings. This chapter got to be a lot gorier than I originally intended. 
> 
> WARNING: Graphic violence and gore. Mentions of rape.

**Chapter 3**

Thomas is ready to tear apart the city after two days of  _ nothing _ . 

No hint of his thief, no trace of VIRUS, no scrap of a lead to chase down.  _ Nothing.  _  He expected a rumor, something to chase down, someone to shoot at that would get him the answers he needed. He just needed something to point him in the right direction. The longer this takes the more violent his imagination becomes. 

He’s going to gut the man who did this, maybe skin him alive. He’ll take his time with it, draw out the torture for as long as possible. Not to mention he’s got about a thousand questions as to why they would want the machine. The only thing it was good for was destruction: a device that created  _ earthquakes _ . 

What other possible use for it could there be? 

And how did they know about it in order to steal it? 

Thomas runs a tired hand through his hair as he stares at the paperwork on his desk. He needs to beat someone up. 

_ Knock knock.  _

“Come in.” The break is welcome, maybe he’ll get the chance to fire someone or yell at some incompetent employees. 

Roy steps into the room and holds up a slip of paper that he then places on the desk. “One of her birds heard something.” 

Thomas unfolds the note eagerly. This is the best possible news: a lead, a physical address. “This is it? The thief?” 

“VIRUS,” Roy replies with a grimace, “and even that’s just mostly rumor. The girl said it was a long shot, but she thinks VIRUS has some contacts in that neighborhood.” 

His jacket is already on and Thomas debates the merits of bringing a more heavy duty weapon than his usual hidden daggers. “Which bird?” 

“Jessica.” Roy raises an eyebrow when Thomas picks up his cane that doubles as a rapier. 

Alright, that may be overkill, Thomas admits to himself as he drops it back in the bucket beside his umbrella. He heads out the door, Roy on his heels. “So this address…” 

“...Will probably lead you to something, just maybe not VIRUS exactly.” Roy shrugs. “It’s by the factories and machinery seems to be her thing, but who knows?” 

Thomas pauses outside Merlyn Global. He glances at Roy. “Is everything set for tonight?” 

“There’s a couple more things to set up. Laurel will meet us there. Her and Sin have some things to take care of.” 

“Good.” Thomas nods and starts walking again. “Get home and finish getting everything ready. I can take care of this on my own.” 

Roy departs at a steady trot, swinging himself up into the saddle of a nearby horse without missing a beat. Thomas whistles as he sets off in the opposite direction. This day is looking up. Some violence could actually help turn it around. 

Along the way, he exchanges some of his finer clothes for rattier and sturdier options, to better blend in with the factory workers at his destination. He doesn’t want to blend in  so much as he doesn’t want to stand out. 

The address Laurel’s bird was able to turn out led to a surprisingly well-populated – if not refined – street. Thomas had expected to find VIRUS in an abandoned warehouse or derelict house hidden by hordes of the city’s unsavory characters. He’s not exactly disappointed: the block is littered with refuse and garbage. Everything seems to be coated in a layer of grime that no amount of cleaning will ever remove. It’s like blood that way.

But contrary to the appearance, the block thrums with life. Men and women stumble back from shifts at the factory around the corner, but there are still children running around under foot, their high laughter echoing around the enclosed space. The children race past him. The eldest amongst them can’t be older than seven but stumbles wearily behind them with a face streaked with black grease which can be only from working during the day.

Thomas sighs. He’d dressed down in preparation for this meeting. He wasn’t in full assassin garb, yet his clothes were still far too clean for the current street. He needs a good roll in the dirt to blend in here, not that he wanted to blend in. He was here to find VIRUS. According to the intel, she should be in the blue house across from him, if you could call the mottled color blue. To Thomas the color is off grey, but it’s the closest one on the block.

He considers the door, blackened with dirt and engine grease. None of the faces he’d seen enter the building stood out to him. They were the same world-weary faces he saw all around them.

“You got here quick.”

Thomas glances sideways at the high voice. He frowns at the passersby who definitely weren’t talking to him. They all were too absorbed to even send him a passing glance.

“Ahem.”

He blinks as his eyes lower to a blonde girl that barely comes up to his waist. Her eyes are unusually bright as she stares up at him with a blank expression. He can’t help but compare her to the woman from the other day, the one controlled by VIRUS. She tilts her head, oddly mechanic in the gesture. The oddest thing about her, though: she’s talking to him instead of playing with the surrounding humans. His gut says she must be one of VIRUS’s plants, even if she’s not wearing the creepy smile or the vacant eyes of the other woman.

But still…there’s something in her eyes that’s unsettling.

The girl’s appearance overall isn’t out of place. Her clothes are clean, but obviously worn and patched over time. She has a little dirt under her fingers and her hair is falling out of her braid as if she’d been running around all day.

He decides to humor her, even though he’s already 90% sure this is who he’s supposed to meet. “Were you expecting me?”

The enigmatic smile that creeps over her face is disconcerting, like it doesn’t belong on the face of a child. “She thought it would take you a few more days, that you would try a few more leads, hit a few more dead ends…”

He raises an eyebrow. “Dead ends?”

The confused blinking reminds him of the pause an automaton takes as it processes new orders, the delay between command and reaction. “You’re not here to work together.”

“I came to investigate a security breach, found one of your boss’s calling cards.” He holds up the metal disk. “It appears we had more than one break in.”

“Sounds like you need to strengthen your security.” She stares at him a moment longer with a blank expression.

“You can tell your boss to keep their little spies out of my company.” He flicks the metal chip at the girl. “I don’t work with ghosts.”

Her smile disappears, her gaze turning hawkish in an instant. It’s similar to the capricious nature of a child, but the iron in her gaze is one borne of maturity and years. It’s unsettling. “You’re not ready.”

With that ominous declaration, her serious demeanor disappears once more and she flounces away, humming a tune as she skips down the street. Thomas scowls but decides to follow her, skulking in the shadows as he tails her down street after street.

The movement bares the back of her neck to Thomas. The lack of a metal tag on the back of her neck indicates that she’s not another controlled human, piloted from afar by the mysterious VIRUS. But her skip, her facial expressions, her maturity: they’re too mechanical, too practiced to be human, especially not a human child. 

And yet…

The machines of Merlyn Global – the most realistic he’d seen to date – looked robotic with gears and metal work. This girl…she was a thousand leagues beyond anything their engineers could ever hope to come up with. Only because he’s paying attention, does he see the quirks that ruin the automaton’s guise: she barrels on without regard for games or treats that would distract any child her age; her moves are analytical, purposeful in that way only adults really adopt; the mechanical precision of her measured steps when she’s walking through a crowd of adults. He even finds himself intrigued when she switches back to skipping and humming as she passes a school, going so far as to start singing a rhyme out loud.

For a moment, he thinks she might really lead him back to her maker.

That hope is dashed when she runs to the playground with a sound he would call joyful if it didn’t come from a machine devoid of human emotion. In fact, it’s that squeal that throws a shadow of doubt on his conclusion. His hand wraps around the scrap of paper with the address that led him to the girl. VIRUS must have spotted him, must have known he was following the automaton. Her creator was good. He’d been discrete.

“If you keep staring creepily at little girls, people are going to start talking. Based on your squeaky-clean reputation, you probably don’t want that.”

This time it’s a working-class man with grease and grime on his cheeks. He leans against the stone wall surrounding the park, a lit pipe hanging between his fingers. He takes a long drag and watches the air as the smoke curls into the chilly air. “I didn’t peg you as a man interested in little girls, but I suppose we all have our dirty little secrets.”

Thomas spares the man a sardonic glance. “I’m thinking about donating money to the park.”

He snorts. “Please, Mr. Merlyn, let’s not lie to each other. Suzette said you’re not ready and you obviously disagreed. But see, I don’t work with men who hide their true natures.” The speech is too formal for the laborer in front of him. It’s VIRUS, or another one of VIRUS’s toys.

“We all wear masks.” Thomas turns to face the man.

The man smirks around his pipe. “Of course, but not with partners. I know the man you’re after and I can find him. I want him dead, slow and painful, the kind of pain where you stop begging for release. Unfortunately, I am not capable of catching him myself. But if you can’t trust me with your true face, then I’ll find someone else.”

The worker pushes off the wall and turns away, another of VIRUS’s pets leaving him behind in the dust. Thomas curses. He’s worked hard to cultivate two separate personas: the public face and the monster who ruled the night. The monster was him, the him that only came out under a physical mask, never in the open on a public street. The public him – polite and charming – was the only visage he allowed to show when others watched.

But if he wants to find the person responsible…

“Wait.”

The man pauses but doesn’t turn, forcing Thomas, against his own inclinations, to chase him. He looks around the empty street before leaning close to the man. “You want me to admit who I am? Fine. I’m a villain, an assassin. I kill, torture, and maim. You wish to cause that thief pain? Then I am very much in agreement with you. He’s taken something of mine and I want it back. By whatever means necessary.” He looks directly into the dead eyes of the man in front of him, speaking directly to his maker. “As long as I get my property returned, I’ll help you with your revenge.”

The man watches him closely. Thomas has no idea how these blasted machines work, but he’s damned sure that somehow,  _ somewhere _ , VIRUS is watching them. This puppet of hers is not long for this world. Unlike the little girl, the light in his eyes is human, not machine. He can see the pulsing blood in the carotid  artery. But why would she send the robot first?

“She’ll contact you with a time and place.”

Thomas pushes the man away from him with a look of disgust. “Just make sure you dispose of this body somewhere else suspicious.  I don’t like cleaning up your messes.”

Laughter is the last reaction he expects from the meat robot in front of him. “Oh, don’ worry, mister. I’m useful. I getta survive this encounter. Farewell, mister Merlyn, an’ good luck wi’ the missus.”

The sudden appearance of an accent, the shift from robotic to life-like, catches Thomas off-guard. One moment the man is stiff and uptight, the next he’s slouched over and slurring his words together. So she didn’t have to kill the woman in Merlyn Global. So she had done it for what? Sport? To prove a point?

How many of those things did she have running around the city? More than Laurel’s birds? Now that was a disturbing thought.

With a sigh, Thomas straightens his hat and sets off through the fog and steam that creeps into the city streets with the onset of night. It’s too early to head home. Laurel will be busy dealing with Nina’s situation, probably with Sin on her heels. Roy will be the only one back at the house. He trusts the reformed ruffian in that capacity far more than the guards at Merlyn Global. The only logical thing to do is report his progress.

He tips his head to a couple passing ladies as he veers sideways into the pathway to the looming mansion. As if the imposing five story wasn’t statement wasn’t enough, almost every room is lit from within by buzzing electricity using the new generator to the best of it’s ability.

Three people live in the monstrosity. The only reason for all the lights is to show off wealth. It’s superfluous flaunting in Thomas’s humble opinion, but it’s not his house.

The large wooden door creaks open as Thomas reaches the top step. The jovial mask of Merlyn Global’s latest line of automaton butlers greet Thomas as he steps into the bright foyer.

“Good evening, Master Thomas. May I take your jacket?”

The mechanical voice is halting, the gears visible, and Thomas can’t help but compare it to the little girl he just saw. On one hand, he wishes his engineers had VIRUS’s genius. On the other…it was a lot less creepy that he could actually see and know the thing in front of him was a machine. It was easy to classify machines when you could see the difference.

He hands over his jacket without comment. He already knows where his father is, the repurposed ballroom where he’ll be until it’s time to prepare for whatever dinner party or ball he’s been invited to tonight.

Thomas wanders the pristine hallways he used to race down as a child, pausing only once to gaze at his mother’s portrait. Even two decades after her death, it still hangs in a place of prominence. For love of her, his father vowed to rid the world of the lowlifes who killed her.

She was the only person Thomas ever loved. There are moments he thinks he might be able to feel something similar with Laurel, but that’s not what their lives are about. Their marriage is a business agreement, one which works for both of them. There aren’t supposed to be feelings involved, but hell if he doesn’t at least respect her drive and strength.

The clang of metal on metal jars Thomas from his contemplation of the painting. He follows the sounds down the hall to the large ballroom. The floor to ceiling doors gape open on to the majestic room that once held all of Star City’s society comfortably and still had room for dancing. But that hadn’t since his marriage. There was no dancing happening now, none that society would recognize anyway.

Two rapiers flash in the mix of electric lights and candles. The two masked figures advance and retreat across the room, the smaller one obviously floundering to hold his own against the other. The younger’s guard slips, the point of his rapier dips dangerously low.

“Raise your guard, Marcus!” The taller shouts as his blade falls from above to take advantage of the lowered guard, a voice that Thomas recognizes from years of similar comments. If he couldn’t recognize his father’s stance, the voice confirms it.

Marcus blocks the blow, but only just. If this were a true spar, Malcolm wouldn’t allow his opponent time to recover. Even in training he was never particularly gracious, but Thomas recognizes the pause for what it is: a brief reprieve for the trainee before Malcolm strikes again.

The boy stumbles but catches himself. He regains his composure rather quickly and throws himself into the fight with renewed vigor.

Thomas sighs. He could wait for the fight to cease – patience was important for any assassin – but after dealing with VIRUS’s minions, he’s not feeling particularly generous with his time. The throwing knife is in his hand as soon as the thought crosses his mind. The boy cusses as the blade slices over the top of his hand and he drops the rapier. He flails, dropping to his knees to recover the weapon, but Thomas already has another dagger pressed to Marcus’s throat, staring at his father over the boy’s head.

“You should always be aware of your surroundings,” Thomas chastises, his voice carefully level. The blade draws a thin line of blood from his neck before Thomas withdraws.

“Go get some water, Adrian,” Malcolm orders. He tosses his helmet to the side. “Then go through the warm ups with Evelyn. I’ll rejoin you when Thomas and I are done.”

Adrian scowls at Thomas as he stalks from the room. Nonchalant, Thomas tosses the throwing dagger into the air, twirling it as he keeps an eye on the weapon in his father’s hand. His father, as usually, spares him barely a beat before attacking.

He blocks the first blow with the dagger, buying himself enough time to pop the discarded rapier into the air with his toes.

“So, what brings you here, son?”

“I have a lead on your stolen machine.” Thomas relaxes into the rhythm of their back and forth. It’s soothing, which is actually nice. It lets him vent his frustrations. “What do you know about VIRUS?”

Malcolm pauses for a beat then snorts. “She didn’t take it. We have an agreement.”

Thomas frowns at the new information. “What?”

“She wouldn’t steal from us. We have a non-interference agreement. She doesn’t mess with us, we don’t mess with her. If she took it, that would mean her death.” Malcolm appears remarkably unaffected for such a statement, as if the idea of Malcolm making a deal wasn’t unheard of.

Digesting the information, Thomas shakes his head. “No. She didn’t take it. She offered to help me find it.”

Malcolm steps back in surprise. “Really?”

“She wants us to kill the thief slowly and painfully.”

He adjusts his grip on the sword, testing its weight in his hand. After a moment of contemplation, Malcolm nods decisively. “Take her help. If anyone can find the thieves, it’s her. And don’t get on her bad side.”

Thomas freezes at the final warning. Who the hell is this woman that she scares even Malcolm Merlyn?

Better yet: does he really want to find out? 

…

“Hello, gorgeous, are you looking for a  _ real _ man? I can help with that, show you a good time.”

Rough hands circle Laurel’s waist and pull her bodily against a solid male chest. Muscles of a laborer encase her as a breath thick with the stench of rotting teeth and alcohol invades her personal space. The hands proceed to run up her sides, their only saving grace that they don’t go right for her breasts that swell over the top of the black leather of her corset. If he did that she wouldn’t have had the tolerance to stop her from jamming her knife through his neck.

As it is, her imagination is already indulging in several fantasies of stopping those hands in their tracks. It would be so easy: with a twist, she could break both wrists. Oooh, or a knife to the groin. He thinks her but she could escape in moments, leaving him dead. Personally, for predators like him, she prefers the method that castrates her opponent. If you hit the penis just right, you can hit a major artery. Of course, that’s an unreliable way to kill a man as it’s not always lethal, but it would be fitting as he’s currently molesting her.

Hmmmm…yes, castration is a good idea.

“Brent Johnson?” Laurel asks as she slips a knife into the palm of her gloved hand. Either way, the man’s sealed his fate. He chose the wrong prey.

He hums in her ear to another wave of nauseatingly bad breath as his hands cup her bosom like has every right to do so. “You know it, sweetheart.”

Laurel relaxes. Target acquired. She leans into Brent like she’s enjoying his ministrations. He chuckles.

“Oh, you’re a whore, aren’t you? You like this, donchya?”

“Brent Johnson, for the rape and violation of Nina Mathers, you are found guilty.” He stiffens at her back as the blade of her knife presses against his neck. Her other hand rests above his thigh, the femoral artery pulsing underneath, both threats equally lethal.

“Y-y-y-you’re her, the Black Siren.”

Laurel smiles, pleased she’s recognized. “You know I prowl these streets and yet you couldn’t stop your lecherous actions. Men like you are pigs, a plague on society. I am the purge.”

The knife at his leg moves first, severing his balls from his body at the request of Nina’s father. A strangled, high-pitched noise which probably meant to be a scream escapes him, but an instant later, the noise is drowned in the blood of his slit neck.

Laurel steps away as her lifeless body lands on the cobblestones. Red blood fills the cracks between the stones. She wipes the blood off her knives on Brent’s already soiled shirt. She stows one of the blades in her holster and taps the second contemplatively against her lips. Nina’s father had wanted retribution for his daughter’s soiled reputation.

This wasn’t a particularly  _ clean _ job.

Nina’s father wanted proof the rapist wouldn’t repeat his crime, hence the severed penis, although she strongly suspects it will make the man lose his last meal. But this is about more than just Nina. This is about sending a message to all the men who think they can take advantage of any girls in the city.

She leans down and rips open the bloody shirt as she senses a silent presence down the alley. She glances up to see a little girl with blonde pigtails. She tilts her head like a little bird, curious. Laurel lifts a finger to her lips.

The child nods and Laurel twists back to the body. With sure hands that were once content with needlepoint, she carves ‘Rapist’ into the man’s chest and extracts his genitals from his pants. The girl continues to watch, but Laurel pays her no mind. If she hasn’t run yet, she’s not going to. Lord only knows what worse things those young eyes have witnessed.

Finished, she rises and walks back toward the girl. “You should be home. Evil creatures walk these streets.”

The girl smiles brightly, unaffected by what she just witnessed. “Don’t worry about me, Siren.”

Surprise passes over her face. This certainly isn’t a normal little girl. “And who are you, little one?”

“A friend.” With that, she spins on her heel and skips off into the foggy night, humming a nursery rhyme as she does.

Laurel shivers.  _ That _ is why she dislikes children: they’re creepy.

“Who was that?”

Laurel glances to the side as Sin emerges from the shadows, lowering the hood of her black cape as she approaches tentatively. She’s still not completely comfortable with all the gore.

“Not one of my birds,” Laurel responds unnecessarily. Sin knows all her informants. If she doesn’t know about the girl, then she hasn’t been involved in any of their business.

“Want me to tail her?”

The girl is long gone, and Laurel as an inkling she works for someone else. She shakes her head and tosses Sin the bag in her hands. “Deliver that to Mr. Mathers. Let me know if he throws up. Roy and I have a bet going.”

Sin’s nose scrunches as she holds the bag further away from her. “You know, this is the reason I can no longer eat sausage.”

Her laughter echoes in the alley as they part ways: Sin to the slums and the Mathers cramped apartment, Laurel uptown to complete another job. She pulls the cloak tighter to hide both her feminine figure and her lack of skirts. The long black fabric blends in just as well at one end of the city as the other. 

As late as it is – after 10 pm – the uptown homes are still alive and lit with lights and the sounds of a society in full swing. Somewhere, in one of those rooms, her mother is bemoaning her elder daughter’s lack of interest in society. Or perhaps she’s latched on to the idea that she’s soon to be a grandmother and Laurel’s now going to be forced to contend with the whole of society staring at her to see if she’s finally with child.

Has she mentioned she has no interest in having children?

Deep breaths. Laurel shakes the internal rant away. That’s not why she’s here tonight. No. She’s here to see justice done for the rape and violation of nine young women employed in the homes of the fabulously wealthy. Nine girls who lost good, well-paying jobs because of their loss of virtue. Eight girls who were violated before the man got to Lily Sinclair, chambermaid to one Thea Queen.

The two girls had appeared at the Merlyn’s back door three nights ago. Lily had been an absolute wreck, dress torn and fresh bruises blossoming on her fair skin, tears pouring from red eyes as she silently clung to Thea.

_ “Please, Laur, we need your help.” _

Thea practically had to drag a skittish Lily inside.

_ “Mother will throw her out for sure if she sees her like this.” _

It had taken hours for Lily to calm down enough to tell her story. Thea stayed by her side the whole time Sin patched her up. Laurel had been ready to go after the scumbag right then and there, especially when it became evident that Lily wasn’t the first victim.

Thomas had been the one to convince her to bide her time. Mr. Reston, the eldest son of Derek Reston, is a powerful man, after all. He was one of Thea Queen’s many suitors, and wouldn’t it be justice if he perished during one of the same balls he liked to rape ladies’ maids at. Which was why they waited until tonight.

Despite her mother’s concerns, the Merlyns weren’t so absent from society that their presence would be remarkable. Additionally, the Restons were business associates.

“You’re late.”

Laurel rolls her eyes as she steps into the shadow. “It took a while to find my target. It’s not like anyone will say anything. We’re fashionably late.”

Thomas snorts, but pushes off the carriage. “Your gown is inside.”

The carriage rocks as she steps inside with a quick nod to Roy where he strokes the horses. A heavy blue gown rests against the seat like a person. The fabric slides easily over her leather corsets and leggings. Regrettably, she has to exchange her comfortable leather boots for a fancier pair of heels that pinch her toes.

“So, did you find her?” Laurel blindly slips her jewelry on and twists her hair up into a practiced chignon, simple but elegant. The back of her dress games open, but that’s the one thing she can’t do on her own.

“I found another minion.”

He’s not pleased. Laurel sighs as she exits the carriage. Without prompting Thomas laces up the back of her gown, cool fingers grazing the exposed skin above her corset. His touch is gentle, light, and lingers against her skin longer than necessary.

“The girl had quite the mouth on her. She wasn’t helpful, but the second minions was…maybe.”

He pulls the laces tight with a jerk. Laurel looks back at him over her shoulder. She knows precious little about VIRUS. Her birds have been curiously silent on the tech guru. As far as knows, there has been no record of VIRUS ever making a personal appearance. All her birds could tell her was that the mysterious figure went toe to toe with Malcolm Merlyn and miraculously managed to earn the man’s respect. Laurel still to this day has no idea what happened there. 

“What happened?”

Thomas scowls. “She’ll help, but that’s all they said. No contact information, no meeting, nothing. It might be better to work this on my own.”

The lack of leads would suggest otherwise.

“My father likes her.”

Laurel blinks. “You talked to Malcolm?” Her eyes flit over him, spotting a cut on his neck just over his cravat. It’s already stopped bleeding so it can’t have been too bad.

“He thinks I should work with her, that she has to know something. He called her information helpful.” Thomas sounds almost…bitter. “But I refuse to just sit around. Have your birds keep their eyes open.”

“Hmmm.” Laurel makes a non-committal noise as she drapes a shawl over her shoulders.

“We’ll find him one way or another.” Thomas presents his arm and glares distastefully up at the house. “Let’s just get this job over with as quickly as possible.”

Laurel nods, letting herself be led up the steps. Their conversation fizzles out as the grand doors swing open to the warm interior. The doorman takes Thomas’s coat and Laurel’s ineffective shawl with a polite nod. Laurel responds with a beatific smile that was trained into her from birth. Society manners override everything as they’re led to the ballroom. She dons them like a mask as strains of orchestra music leak down the hallway, growing louder as they near another set of grand wood doors.

Thomas squeezes her arm in solidarity for the performance they’re about to put on. The tension seeps out of her shoulders in response.

“Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Merlyn.”

With each step into the brightly lit room, her tension melts a little further. She can spot her mother in the corner, fanning herself as she courts a circle of society matrons, no doubt deciding the fate of the young lords and ladies. Which means Sara is probably causing trouble somewhere else in the room.

But first, to greet their hosts:

“Mr. Merlyn, Mrs. Merlyn, it is a wonderful that you were able to come.”

“Thank you for the invite, Mr. Reston.” Thomas shakes hands with their host and steals the hostess’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “And you look absolutely ravishing tonight, Mrs. Reston.”

She giggles, completely smitten with Thomas’s act. “Oh, Mr. Merlyn, you are too kind. What will your wife say?” Her slight to Laurel is not missed. But of course, her husband is the darling of society and they think she can never live up to his level of class.

“Never fear, Mrs. Reston, my wife knows she holds my heart.”

Laurel barely contains her eyeroll at the statement that makes two young girls within hearing swoon a little. Before the night is over that little statement will spread all over the whole room. Her husband is too charming at this persona, too flamboyant to ever blend into the shadows.

“Oh, stop it.” Mrs. Reston waves them off with a smile. “You’re too much. Get out of here. Enjoy the party.”

Laurel curtsies briefly at her hosts before they move around the edge of the dance floor.

“We should go greet your mother before she decides to race over here and cause a scene,” Thomas whispers between handshakes and nods to each person they come across.

Personally, she’d rather dance and play nice with society dandies than entertain her mother in public but not doing so would be notable, which could undermine their mission here. Across the room, her mother waits expectantly in all her superior glory as leader of the society matrons.

It had been a feat, marrying her sullied daughter off to the most eligible bachelor a couple years ago. After Laurel’s kidnapping, she’d been shunned by society, a cautionary tale. Despite her lack of control in the circumstances of her abduction, the most she could have expected upon her return was a quiet marriage to a wealthy recluse. She would have been swept under the rug of society. She would have been content to stay missing, to fight her way through life on the streets, removed from societal rules and regulations.

But it was the Merlyns who found her. More specifically, Thomas Merlyn as the Dark Archer.

In exchange for training and her independence, she became the wife he needed to get the old bats like her mother to stop parading their daughters in front of them. It was a miracle for her mother and a complete upheaval of all the ladies in their circle, especially when it became evident that Malcolm readily approved of the union. It appeared to everyone that they married for love.  They still got stares when they went out in public.

“Good evening, Mother.” Laurel kisses each of her mother’s cheeks conscious of their audience. 

“Darling, I hadn’t expected to see you tonight.” Her mother grasps arm with an overly congenial smile. “Are you sure you should be out given your…condition?”

Well, if she hadn’t said it before, now the whole of society will be on pregnancy watch.

“You know these things take time, Mother. And Thomas promised me a night out with all the dancing I want.”

Dinah Lance was less than impressed, but the ladies all sighed.

“I wish my husband would dance with me.” The plain woman directly to her mother’s left that Laurel should probably know stares over her shoulder at a white-haired man currently leering at a young debutante.

“As loathe as I am to part with my dear wife, I’m sure she can spare me for a dance or two, Mrs. Montgomery.”

It would give Laurel the chance to slip away and eliminate their target unnoticed. Thomas would undoubtedly grab eyes with a daring and exciting dance under the guise of entertained the slighted Mrs. Montgomery. With that established, Laurel smiles brightly at her husband. “As long as you don’t forget you still have to dance with me.”

He holds out a hand with a devilish grin. “Absolutely, Mrs. Merlyn. May I have this dance?”

She laughs as he pulls her onto the dance floor and into his arms, nearly cutting off another couple in his haste. To any onlooker he appeared to be just an overeager husband dancing with his young wife, but Laurel knows better. It’s all part of the façade, the silly man.

In reality, the lethal grace of the assassin translates seamlessly into ballroom dance. Thomas’s fluidity of movement once they find the beat makes Laurel feel like a robotic puppet in comparison, her moves choppy and stilted. She reminds herself to relax into his embrace, to feel the beat, to flow instead of step. Slowly, she melts into the dance as she tries to ignore the stares from onlookers.

This feeling – the skin-crawling sensation of eyes watching her – reminds her of the night she was kidnapped. She hasn’t been able to completely relax at one of these event since then. 

Her thoughts scatter as Thomas unexpectedly spins her in a circle and then yanks her back, even closer than before.

She blinks at him in surprise, but he looks past her to scan the surrounding crowd for their target.

Right. She’s working tonight. She can’t forget that. Her eyes sweep the lords and ladies for their host’s younger son.

Thomas performs another twist and a lift, and Laurel finds herself so close that they’re flirting with impropriety. “You’re laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

“I thought I was treating my precious wife like the goddess she is,” he whispers in her ear. She shivers at his breath on her exposed skin. It’s like electricity running through her blood.

He has to know what that does to her. Just because they’ve never been joined as man and wife doesn’t mean Laurel’s unaffected by their proximity. She is a woman after all. She has feelings of lust for the gorgeous man that chose to marry her over every available beauty in the city. Then he does things like compliment her extravagantly in public, pull her close while dancing, and it blurs the line between them.

But then…two can play at that game.

“Well, husband-mine,” she growls, crossing the barely-there lines of propriety so her lips are right beside his ear, a hair away from the skin. “You’re going to have to work on that charm if you don’t want me to tell everyone you’re the reason I can’t get pregnant.” She smirks up at him as she steps back. “It’s a pity you can’t get it up.”

His lips twitch into a real smile. “You say that, wife, but I think we both know society won’t blame me for that.”

“Not after I share my stories.” Laurel’s enjoying her power play. She’s a rather stunning actress if she does say so herself. She’s almost certain she can get Malcolm to play along. She’ll be the teary-eyed gem of society who can’t seem to escape misfortune.

He’d be fine, of course. Thomas could never be out of favor for long.

“I’ll admit telling your mother about potential children was a misstep.”

“No shit,” Laurel grumbles through her tight smile just as her eyes land on Kyle Reston. His eyes are already locked on an unsuspecting serving girl. 

“You do realize we’re going to have to talk about this at some point, right?”

The smile slips a little before Laurel can catch it for the sake of their onlookers. “It’s my body, and there will be no tiny humans coming out of it. In fact, there will be no tiny humans in my house, period.”

He sighs. “My father is looking forward to being a grandfather.” Her nails bite into the skin of his hand, earning her a wince at the pain. “At the very least, we’ll have to stage a pregnancy and there will be a baby in the house. With a nanny, of course.”

No. She does  _ not _ like the idea. She’s enjoyed their quiet farce of a marriage. Adding children to the mix is asking for trouble, even if she has to admit Sin would be a good big sister. She still refuses to actually give birth to one.

“You better make sure your mistress looks like me then.”

“Laurel-“

“I’m going to take care of our target. Why don’t you go dance with Mrs. Montgomery. This song’s over anyway.” She curtsies to the final chord of the orchestra. She leans close to Thomas again to pat his chest before moving past him as if for the powder room.

It would have been flawless, if he hadn’t snatched her hand and pulled her back into his arms. “Laurel, there’s no other woman.”

She blinks up at him. Why is he telling her this? “Why not? We both know this is just a business relationship. I don’t care who you fuck.”

His face is a mask, but his eyes are trying to tell her something, a dangerous something that looks almost like emotion. Laurel refuses to entertain her fancies about  _ what _ the feeling is. She’s here to do a job.

With a giggle, her society mask of loving wife reasserts itself. She presses a kiss to Thomas’s cheek, not noticing the stiffness in his muscles as he tries to hold himself together as she walks away.

Laurel herself takes a couple deep breaths to center herself again. As much as she would love to make Kyle’s death excruciatingly painful, a death to sing his guilt to the world, that would draw too much attention to their current situation. As her father-in-law likes to point out, there are subtler ways that won’t destroy Merlyn Global’s business connections. 

Kyle’s still in the ballroom, currently engaging in a dance with a friend of Thea Queen with a name like Marisol. His eyes though, his eyes flicker to the serving girl still making her rounds. He hasn’t made his move yet, which means she has time.

The powder room holds a handful of ladies primping before the mirror, including one Sara Lance.

“Laurel!” She cries in delight, throwing herself into her sister’s arms. “You came!”

She laughs. “Hello to you too, sister dear.”

Sara pulls back with a laugh, swatting at Laurel with her fan. “Stop it. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Thomas promised me a night out.” She propagates their cover story as she greets the other girls. “And I was hoping to see my lovely sister. You haven’t come with mother on her last couple visits.” She throws her sister a reproachful glare. Neither girl is a huge fan of their stifling mother.

“I was out with friends, but we should get up a time to do lunch or something. Without Mother, of course.”

Laurel smiles. “Of course.”

“Now, I would love to chat, but I made Mr. Snart promise me a dance and if I am not there to collect he’ll slip away again.” She kisses Laurel’s cheek as she races out of the room in a whirl, far faster than any lady would dare, but it suits Sara. 

She apparently hasn’t outgrown her love of flirting with inappropriate people, such as the sullen widower. Then again, Laurel couldn’t deny that the two of them got on famously.

The other girls trail out behind Sara, leaving Laurel to check her appearance in the mirror before she slips the small vial of poison from her brassiere. The red liquid catches the light as she tilts the container.

Poison is one of her least favorite methods of murder. Laurel prefers something more tactile. Yet she can’t deny that it has its place. Here, for instance.

The poison won’t take effect immediately. It will slowly infect his system, slowing his heart bit by bit. At first, he’ll appear to be getting drunker. He’ll collapse at one point, probably after making a scene, knowing the man’s reputation. His father will have him taken away to his room to sleep it off, and in the middle of the night his heart will stop entirely.

Laurel sighs. He deserves worse for the rapes of so many women, but this way prevented the murder from being traced back to her.

Vial in hand, she exits the powder room.

She takes a glass from a passing servant and tilts the contents of the vial into it. The poison blends flawlessly with the red wine as she then starts across the room. Timing her walk with Kyle’s and the poor serving girl who caught his attention, Laurel switches her poisoned glass for a fresh one, the only cup remaining on the girl’s serving tray, as she narrowly avoids colliding with her. It’s only Laurel’s quick reflexes that stop the tray from falling to the floor. She straightens the tray and balances the poisoned glass on top like it was there the whole time.

“I am so sorry.” She laughs like it was a complete mistake as she takes a sip of the un-poisoned wine. “I am so clumsy. Are you alright?”

“Fine, mam,” the girl replies dutifully as Kyle joins them.

Kyle snatches the last glass, as planned. His death is sealed at the first sip. It settles over Laurel like a warm blanket on a cold night, the comforting feeling of a job well done.

“Angelica is the best we have.” Kyle smiles at her indulgently.

The maid, far from looking timid and scared under his gaze,  _ preens _ . Laurel’s stomach churns. The adoring gaze on a  _ rapist _ makes her sick to her stomach. Perhaps this girl isn’t the victim she thought her to be.

Laurel walks away with a smile and another apology, slowly sipping her wine. She walks around the edge of the crowd. Her husband has moved from Mrs. Montgomery and is now dancing with her sister. Sara and him appear to be working up quite the back and forth as they laugh their way through a waltz.

She keeps one eye on Kyle and Angelica, jaw clenching as she sees them leave the large room together. She glances at Thomas and decides she will not be ignoring this. If this is rape, she will stop it.

The hallway is dark enough to hide her reasonably well as she trails behind the couple.

“So,” Angelica’s voice carries around a corner. The submissive mannerisms have been exchanged for a sultry whisper. “Have you picked tonight’s lucky girl?”

Kyle chuckles. “I thought we weren’t going to do that tonight.”

“But, love, you know how I love to see them struggle. Like that idiot girl at Queen Mansion, and the one at the Beauchamps…”

Laurel’s free hand wraps around a blade at the damning evidence: The serving girl is in on this. Well, she can’t kill Kyle Reston violently without inciting the wrath of his family, but the girl? The girl is fair game.

Thomas will agree with her.

She slips into an alcove a step away. Cloaked enough to remain unseen, but close enough to hear the whole sickening conversation. The twisted back and forth obviously excites the pair and Laurel has to swallow her gag reflex as sounds of sex reach her ears.

“I have to go back, but I’ll find someone. We’ll meet back here. One hour.” Kyle promises although his voice already sounds a little slurred to Laurel. He might make it the hour before passing out, but Laurel will make sure Angelica’s not here to meet him.

Her grip on the knife tightens as Kyle stumbles past her, straightening his cravat.

Angelica can be heard, still just around the corner. Laurel approaches quietly. She pauses at the end of the hallway to gather her breath for just a moment before she springs into action. The other girl is taken completely by surprise and has no time to react before Laurel’s hand covers her mouth and presses her knife to the girl’s throat. 

“Don’t move.” She puts all the disgust she feels into the two words.

Angelica nods quickly, eyes still wide with surprise.

“You helped Kyle Reston with the rape of eight different girls, didn’t you?” Laurel demands the answer to her question as she removes her hand. “Didn’t you?”

Angelica’s fear morphs into pride. “Eight? Ha. There were so many more than that. Usually we’re discrete enough that no one notices. Those are only the ones that gave us trouble.”

Laurel allows the girl to gain confidence, to push away the blade at her throat and crowd Laurel against the opposite wall like she has the upper hand.

“Do you know how easy it is to slip drugs into a lady’s glass? Far too easy. They barely even know what’s happened. And you? You just stumbled onto something you’ll regret,  _ my lady. _ ” Angelica places a hand on the wall beside Laurel’s head. “We’ve been talking about going for a real society wife. Thank you for walking right into our trap.”

Angelica lets her own knife rest against Laurel’s collarbone, sliding it along her clavicle and back.

“I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.”

Her answer is released on a breath, barely loud enough to reach Angelica’s ears. When the words do, it takes another moment before she can wrap her mind around their meaning. And in that moment before understanding, Laurel strikes.

She twists the knife from Angelica’s wrist and impales the girl on her own blade, shoving it through the girl’s corset and into her gut with her body weight. The knife is duller than Laurel’s, but it’s also much larger. She yanks the blade back with all her strength. It looks like she might have hit the stomach with that one.

Good.

She deserves a painful death.

Angelica manages to pull herself across the hallway so her back is propped against the far wall, but she doesn’t seem to be any more capable of moving as she tries to stop the bleeding.

Laurel’s content with letting her slowly succumb to her wounds. It’s the stomach acid that will kill her anyway. She crouches beside her, examining the knife in her hand. It looks like a fancy gift from her lover, far more expensive than a serving girl could afford with its gilt handle and extravagant design.

“You know, I thought Kyle was bad, raping young women and throwing them away like trash, but you…you are something else.” Laurel holds the knife against Angelica’s neck, like she might end things right then and there.

The fear is back in the girl’s eyes, deep seated fear, and maybe – just maybe – if she had shown the teeniest bit of remorse, Laurel might give her the quick end of s cut artery. But no, the slow painful death before her is what she deserves. And in case someone finds her early…

“Now, I can’t have you telling anyone who did this. You’re not going to live long enough to miss it anyway.” As Angelica realizes her intention, she starts to wiggle and even attempt to scream, but before she can make too much noise, Laurel’s already grabbed her tongue and severs it from her mouth.

She drops the warm, wet muscle a second later in disgust as Angelica makes pitiful rasping noises even as she dies.

Laurel drops the knife at her feet as she stands. “That’s what you get for facilitating the rape and ruin of women unable to defend themselves. Wish I could stick around to watch, but…I’ll be missed if I stick around any longer.”

She turns away, looking herself over for any hint of blood on her gown. It truly was such a pain to get out. Not to mention, her mother would throw a fit if she saw it.

She’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t notice she has company until the arrow comes flying out of the shadows and impales her shoulder in the wall behind her. 

“Gahhhh!”

She doesn’t know who she expects to see. Certainly, not her husband, but Malcolm…she wouldn’t put it past him to do away with her.

What she absolutely  _ doesn’t  _ expect to see is a third archer.

His garb and hood, while reminiscent of Malcolm’s uniform, are staunchly different, most notably in that they’re a green leather rather than black. He stands just as tall, with another already pointing at her chest, the first obviously a warning.

He’s good. She’ll give him that. He hit a tiny spot that allows the arrow to pass through her without hitting any major organs. It’s the shot of a master archer, and Laurel knows a couple.

With a grimace, she breaks off the end of the arrow that protrudes from her chest and steps forward until the arrow no longer impales her. It hurts like a bitch but at least she can now move.

The archer doesn’t fire again, merely watches her.

Or she assumes he does under that green hood.

“Who are you?” She growls. It no longer matters to her who hears about this, who sees it. The Merlyns will make it disappear. The threat to deal with now is this fool in green.

He regards her in silence and she takes another step. “I  _ said _ , who  _ are _ you?”

“Laurel Lance,” she inhales on the use of her maiden name, “you have failed this city!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**5 Years Ago**

_ Cooper scrambles away from her as Felicity grabs for the gun in her nightstand. An arrow embeds in the wood of her night table before she can reach the weapon and she spins to face the invading trio. _

_ The hooded archer knocks the gun from Cooper’s hands with another arrow as Eyepatch levels a gun evenly at each of them. Gone is the eyepatch of yesterday, in its place a glowing red contraption that appears to focus and narrow in of its own volition. If this wasn’t a life-threatening situation, she would ask to take a look. _

_ “Who are you? What do you want?” Cooper demands. _

_ “Kind of you to ask,” Eyepatch snarks. “We’ll take your device.” _

_ “What?” Cooper steps back, hand dropping to cover the pocket containing the device rather obviously. _

_ Eyepatch focuses on her. “I thought you were smarter than this, Blondie.” _

_ “And I thought you couldn’t see through that eye.” She squints at his eye. “So how does that implant work? Is it connected to the socket like the eye would be to allow you to see or is it a construction? Are you an android? Does it do more than see? Who made it? I mean the craftsmanship from here looks exquisite. I didn’t know anyone could do work so elabor-“ _

_ “Felicity,” Cooper growls, cutting off her babble with a shake of his head. Right. This really isn’t the time. _

_ Then it hits her. “You’re an android, aren’t you? That eye integrates directly into your brain. So it really acts like an eye, right?” _

_ “FELICITY!” _

_ Eyepatch snorts. “I still like you, Blondie. You don’t want to get tangled up in this.” He waves his gun at Cooper. “The device. I don’t want to shoot you or Blondie, but I will if I have to.” _

_ “Eat dirt, scumb-“ _

_ The shot grazes Cooper’s cheek, leaving a long line of blood in its wake. _

_ “The next one won’t miss.” _

_ Cooper glances at her and then back at Eyepatch. “I will never give it to you.” _

_ He sighs. “Then I’m sorry for this.” _

_ Felicity screams as pain spears her side and she clutches at her arm, the blood now flowing freely it through her fingers. She falls back against the bed and stares at Eyepatch, at the smoking gun. She knew those meetings would lead to trouble. But hell, if she’s going to let these thieves take her device. So Felicity swallows any more pained sounds and straightens to glare at the trio. _

_ “If I give it to you, will you leave us alone?” _

_ “Cooper,” Felicity growls in warning. She is not letting someone walk away with her pride and joy. _

_ “Felicity,” he says back, evenly, “why don’t you grab the device?” _

_ She scowls. “Get it yourself.” _

_ He sighs and stands. Felicity moves to follow him, to stop him. She’s rather destroy the device than hand it over. _

_ “I am not as against hurting women as my companions. Don’t test me.” Felicity pauses as the cold edge of the katana presses against her neck. The small Asian woman stares coldly at her and tilts her head. “The sword wants to shed your blood. Don’t give me reason to.” _

_ Cooper storms back and shoves the master key into Eyepatch’s chest. “There. Take it and go.” _

_ Eyepatch holsters a gun to examine the device. He slips it into one of the many pockets in his jacket and looks back up at Cooper. “Take him.” _

_ “No!” Felicity shouts, stopping from moving as the blade bites into her neck. She doesn’t stand a chance against these three. Anyone of them could kill her in an instant. Besides, they’ve already moved in tandem, a true team. _

_ Eyepatch has the device, Hood shoots Cooper with something that has him collapsing in an instant, the woman manages to keep her restrained as they do. She wants to scream, to cry, to make them all regret this, but she’ll be dead in an instant if she does. _

_ “Get that patched up, Blondie. I’d hate for you to bleed to death.” _

_ Hood snorts as he throws Cooper over his shoulder. Eyepatch glares at him as their group advances toward the door. Her hand wraps around her second gun under the mattress when they’re halfway across the open space. _

_ She gets exactly one shot off before there’s an arrow sticking out of the barrel of her gun. The blood on the Asian woman’s side is her only trophy, evidence of a shot that didn’t miss. But the archer already has a second shot lined up, this time pointed directly at her heart. _

_ After a moment, the Hood lowers his weapon. He huffs. “I see why you like her, Lawton. Let’s get out of here before Waller gets antsy.” _

_ With that they walk out of Felicity’s warehouse. What they’ve taken,  _ who _ they’ve taken hits her in that instant and she falls to the ground with a strangled cry. They’ve taken everything. And she has no idea how to get them back. _

_ … _

_ She finds the missing antenna on her work table. First, she’s furious Cooper broke her device. Then the elation hits: they won’t be able to use her device. _

_ Felicity grins as she returns to packing. She needs to move on now. They know where she is. She’ll leave just enough to hint to Cooper at her new destination, something only he will be able to follow. The warehouse feels stripped bare. Her single bag is stuffed with schematics, any inventions she can carry, and what limited clothes she has. Any inventions she can’t carry have been destroyed. If they come back, the thugs who took Cooper won’t find anything. _

_ It’s time to leave. _

_ She pulls her scarf tight around her face as she blends into the crowds marching toward the factory for second shift. The march of boots on the cobblestones echo off the buildings. Felicity slinks away from the sound a block from the factory where the shift bell clangs incessantly. _

_ A muttered apology to someone she crashes into, and Felicity breaks into a run to catch the train, her shot at freedom. She drops into a seat and glances around to see if anyone’s watching. With a lurch, the train starts to move forward and Felicity closes her eyes in relief. _

_ Once the station’s out of sight, she fishes the wallet she lifted from the man she bumped into out of her pocket. Leisurely, she flips it open. If she’s lucky, they’ll be enough cash in here to pay for her ticket without dipping into her personal funds. _

_ Instead of cash, she finds a piece of paper.  _ You’re remarkable.

_ She frowns at the paper, so preoccupied with the note that she doesn’t immediately realize she’s no longer alone in her train car. She jumps as she meets eyes with the man now sitting across from her. _

_ He’s a giant of a man, cleanly dressed if not expensively. His build suggests a laborer, someone who uses the muscles that ripple under that shirt. He easily takes over half the bench across from her as he lounges comfortably, but there’s a predatory glint in his eyes as he stares deliberately at her. _

_ It doesn’t take much to know that he’ll catch her should she try to run. The question is: who is he? _

_ He chuckles. _

_ Felicity grimaces. She must have said part of that out loud. Damn her mouth. “So who are you?” _

_ “You really are remarkable,” he says instead. “I almost didn’t feel you lift my wallet.” _

_ “But you did.” Felicity narrows her eyes. “And you slipped a note inside.” _

_ A smirk. “Not quite. There was never any money in it. I’ve been watching you since the bar. No offense, but your beau never seemed like the mastermind.” _

_ She stiffens. She didn’t think they would find her this soon. “What did you do to Cooper?” _

_ He shrugs and looks out the window. “Don’t know. Lawton’s probably working on him. I was assigned to keep an eye on you.” _

_ “So you’ve been  _ watching  _ me?” She feels violated. Obviously, he has to be the man under the hood, the archer. Since she doesn’t see the bow in sight, she might be at an advantage. The size of his muscles seems to contradict that. _

_ “Those inventions you have…they’re not his, are they?” _

_ She does not like this line of questioning. “I’m just the eye candy.” It’s a bald-faced lie, one that makes her gag just saying it. She must make a face as the words pass her lips because the man across from her smirks. _

_ “I don’t believe that for a second.” _

_ The scowl returns. “So, what? Taking Cooper wasn’t enough for you? He’s the one with all the grand plans.” _

_ “And a need to broadcast them to everyone within hearing distance.” His eyes drift over her. “But you…you’re the brains. You’ve seen things. You don’t talk unless necessary. You watch and plot from the sidelines. You’re the one Waller’s going to be interested in, not your mediocre boyfriend.” _

_ “Waller? Is that who you work for?” She tilts her head. “Did she send you to bring me back?” _

_ He crosses his arms. “If she wanted me to grab you, we wouldn’t be on a train heading in the opposite direction. I’m here to warn you. Get away now. While you can.” _

_ Felicity laughs. “Really? That’s not cryptic at all. Aren’t I supposed to be running away from you?” _

_ “Yes.” His face is set in a serious frown. “I’m here to warn you before I get my orders.” _

_ She narrows her eyes. “Why?” People aren’t selfless, as a rule. They act in their own self-interest. Only one person has ever helped her without asking anything in return was Walter. _

_ “Because you’re too good for this.” _

_ Felicity laughs derisively. “You think you know me? After watching me like a stalker for a day?” _

_ “No one deserves this life,” he insists, standing. “It’s a matter of time before they find out you’re the mastermind. Make sure you’re away from here before they do.” _

_ With that he walks away, leaving her to formulate her own plan and ponder just how bad this Waller could be. _

_ … _

_ They catch up with her four days later. Honestly, she’s disappointed that she didn’t last longer, but she’s never had to  _ run _ before. She could always hide in the streets of Starling, streets that she knew the darkest, scariest parts of. Even then, she doesn’t know how they tracked her down. _

_ She’d convinced herself two days in that Cooper wasn’t going to give her up. He loved her too much. He wouldn’t do that. _

_ It happens all at once. _

_ She’s walking down a normal street, heading toward the nearest train station. The gas lamps barely cut through the darkness that sat on the streets like a physical presence. Felicity just couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.   _

_ The shadowy figure waiting in the middle of the street when she turns the corner confirms the feeling. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals a second figure, one with a hood and a bow. Felicity pulls out her weapons, a gun in each hand, aimed at the two men on either side of her. _

_ “Come on, Blondie. Let’s not make this difficult.” _

_ She sneers at the first shadow. “Not a chance, Eyepatch.” _

_ His sigh echoes loudly in the deserted street. “You’re spunky. I like that, but we’ve got orders, Blondie. And we know what those gadgets do.” _

_ “They’re guns. I should hope you know what they do considering you’re pointing two at me.” _

_ “Guns of your own invention, which can be stopped by a significant magnetic field.” _

_ It’s a new experience: someone knowing what her inventions can do before she uses them. In fact, this is knowledge only Cooper would have. “How do you know that? What did you do to Cooper?” _

_ “Your friend cracked in minutes. We didn’t even have to resort to torture. He spilled it all. Everything you ever made, every name you night have used. He told us everything he knew in exchange for his freedom.” _

_ Felicity’s hands tighten on the handles of her weapons, shifting uneasily. “He wouldn’t.” _

_ “He did,” the archer confirms. “He made a deal: his freedom for yours.” _

_ “No.” She doesn’t believe it. _

_ “Sorry, Blondie, but you’re coming with us.” _

_ … _

_ “Good Morning, Sleeping Beauty!” _

_ Felicity wakes to a metal room, on a padded pallet that is surprisingly more comfortable than her bed in the warehouse. For one, blissful moment, she doesn’t remember where she is. Then she remembers the street, her bolts of lightning that arched away from her targets as if her aim was thrown off by an invisible force. She remembers the archer apologizing as he closed the distance between them and knocked her out with one swift movement. _

_ “Where am I?” She spins with a savage glare at the  woman standing next to the door. The woman is dressed as a man, in slacks and a shirt. Her only concession to typical female dress is the corset she wears over the shirt, but even that connects to a padded armor. “Who are you?” _

_ “Good morning, Miss Smoak. I am Amanda Waller and I believe you’ve already met my operatives.” _

_ The vague gesture calls her attention to Eyepatch and the archer behind the woman. Waller…that’s the name she heard on the train, the man in charge, who’s actually a woman.  _

_ Felicity rises from the cot. She’s still shorter than everyone else, but it makes her feel a little better. “What have you done with Cooper?” _

_ “He was released,” Waller announces in a bored voice. “He was of no use to us, but you, Miss Smoak, you’re exactly the type of person I’m looking to recruit.” _

_ “Ha! Recruit? You’ve kidnapped me.” _

_ “And who will miss you, Miss Smoak? Cooper? Well, that bridge appears to have been burned since he gave you up. Even went to your little…home, and told us where you were headed. He’s been very helpful.” _

_ Felicity’s blood boils. Cooper betrayed her? No. It must have been the other one, the archer. “I don’t believe you. You just had your henchman watching me.” She glares at the man in question. _

_ Waller glances over her shoulder as Felicity tries to catalogue her injuries. There was no damage done physically when they snatched her, but her head aches with a vengeance. She runs her hands over her sides, satisfied that nothing’s changed until her hands wrap around the cold metal band around her neck. _

_ She wasn’t wearing a necklace when they grabbed her… _

_ “Ah, yes. I see you’ve found the collar.” _

_ Felicity turns to Waller in horror. “What is this?” _

_ Waller’s lips twitch. It could be a smile, but really it’s more of a pleased smirk, a triumphant sign that she’s incomplete control. “ _ That _ is a device that allows me to track your movements, and, should you misbehave, it allows me to sever your head from your body. All my operatives have them.” _

_ Now that she knows what to look for, she spots the same glint of metal on both the archer and Eyepatch. Neither of them look happy to be here. _

_ “As to finding your location. Mr. Queen lost you when you hopped off the train and was unable to pick up the trail. Mr. Seldon was more than happy to exchange his life for information on you. You really should pick better friends.” Waller clasps her hands in front of her. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Miss Smoak: you’re being recruited onto a top secret task force in exchange for the forgiveness of your past crimes, which include theft, impersonation, and murder-“ _

_ “I did  _ not _ kill Walter.” Let Waller make what she will of the rest of her crimes, but she will not take the fall for the murder of Walter Steele, the only man who had kept his promise to her. _

_ Waller smirks. “Oh, Miss Smoak, I think we both know there are others that you have. Let’s not lie to one another.” _

_ Felicity scowls. _

_ “Now, then: your position on this team will be to provide them with the best technology available. Malfunctions are unacceptable.” _

_ “You have an android. What the hell do you think I can contribute?” She certainly hasn’t figured out how to integrate metal and living flesh. Of course, her squeamishness has always been a detriment to the research. _

_ “Our inventor suffered a recent accident. You’ll have access to all his research, but if you step one toe out of line, I will have no problem ending your life. Are we clear?” _

_ Her tone is effective enough and Felicity sits back down on the cot, arms crossed. “Is that all?” _

_ Waller turns away so she faces both Felicity and the men in the door. “From time to time you may be required to go into the field. Either Mr. Queen or Mr. Lawton will oversee your training. Mrs. Yamashiro would have been my first choice, but your well-aimed shot has removed her from combat for the time being.” _

_ With that, Waller sweeps from the room, leaving her alone with the archer, Eyepatch, and the crushing realization that man she loved had betrayed her. If she ever found Cooper again, he was as good as dead. _

_ … _

_ “You need to plant your feet. Follow through with your weight and hit with these knuckles.” _

_ Felicity glares at him. “I know how to throw a punch.” _

_ Oliver taps the top of the dummy with an annoyed sigh. “Felicity, I’m supposed to be training you. You need to be able to defend yourself.” _

_ “That’s what my taser is for. Literally why I made it.” She gets back into the fighting stance he’s supposed to be training her in. Him and Floyd had been taking turns in training. Both of them were more than proficient in long distance and target practice, and that’s what she had been working on for the last month in between catching up on her predecessor’s work. _

_ She’d come to one stunning conclusion: Dr. Ivo had been insane. He had specialized on the medical side of being a doctor and his research showed it. She spent hours poring over his reports and it’s been incredibly informative. She knows now how he was able to connect Floyd’s eye to the vision centers of his brain and exactly _ how much  _ “experimentation” went into that discovery. In fact, she now knows far more about the human body than she ever thought she needed to know. _

_ In the far corner of her mind, a part of her genius is figuring out how to make a realistic automaton. Not that she was going to tell Amanda Waller that. She’ll keep that secret to herself since it appears Ivo hadn’t made that connection yet. _

_ “But if you can’t get to it, this training could be the difference between life and death.” _

_ He’s such a Drama Queen. “You and Lawton only work long range weapons.” _

_ “But we are both competent in hand to hand combat and close range weapons. Your aim is fine, but if you faced anyone one on one, you wouldn’t even stay alive until we came to extract you.” He stands behind her, adjusting her stance as she faces the training dummy. She resists the urge to lean back, to sink into those drool-worthy muscles. _

_ “I thought the point of this group was that there would be no extraction: captured means dead.” _

_ Oliver sighs. “You’re less expendable than the rest of us.” _

_ She smirks. “So you’ve been ordered to defend me?” She’s not going to lie: she likes the thought that the veritable wall of muscle training her would be coming to her rescue. She’s watched him and Floyd train. Seeing them train shirtless was certainly an experience, one she likes to repeat whenever she can get away with it. _

_ Cooper had never been exceptionally physical. He could do all the tasks required of him, but he’d never been a warrior, a fighter. So she ogled the men on her team. It was highly improper, but since when was a whore’s daughter expected to be proper. _

_ “Don’t let it go to your head,” he whispers in her ear. _

_ Felicity glances back with a smirk even as she shivers with awareness at the closeness of his body. “See something you like, Mr. Queen?” _

_ He chuckles, large hands encasing hers as he points her toward the bag, maneuvering her to replicate the motions needed to complete a proper punch. “I could ask you the same, Miss Smoak. You always find your way into the room when Lawton and I are training.” _

_ His voice is a low rumble in her ear, and Felicity is only a woman. She hasn’t had sex in a month. As much as she hates this place, hates him for bringing her here, she’s undeniably attracted to him. Plus, she’s enjoying their rapport. So she leans back into him, into those strong arms that surround her. “The real question is, are you going to do anything about it?” _

_ He presses back into her. “Don’t start something you won’t finish, Smoak.” His lips brush the shell of her ear and she shivers. _

_ “Just name the place, Queen.” Her heart rate is elevated, her breathing labored. Damn, she’s attracted to his man. She needs to regain the upper hand. She spins in his arms, keeping them pressed close together as she stares up into his blue eyes. She wraps her arms around his neck, rises on her toes so she is pressed completely against him. “It could be extremely…rewarding.” _

_ His head drops, stopping an inch from her face as his eyes stare her down. It’s a dare. _

_ Felicity grins. They’re almost undoubtedly people watching them, eyes on them seeing how far they take this. She’s never been like this before, never pushed herself on people, but this…Suicide Squad…has removed any need for her to pretend to abide by society’s rules. Walter would be disappointed, but then, that doesn’t seem to matter here in their secluded corner of the world. _

_ She leans up to seal her lips against his, pushing her tongue against his lips to force them open. It draws a groan from back of his throat and he responds in kind. It makes sense. Lord knows how long he’s been here, and Felicity can tell Tatsu isn’t the sort to take Queen or Lawton into her bed. He’s probably starved for human contact. And hell, she’s amenable. _

_ His hands drift down to her ass, squeezing the flesh there. Felicity groans and pulls back so she can look him in the eye. “This is purely a lust thing, got it?” _

_ Oliver nods, breath harsh. “Just sex. No attachments.” _

_ “Glad we’re in agreement.” Felicity jumps, pulling herself up from the arms around Oliver’s neck to her legs wrap around his waist. _

_ Oliver responds with a desperate kiss, his hands back on her ass and thighs. He breaks the contact long enough to raggedly say, “Room.” _

_ Felicity desperately nods. “Mine.” _

_ It’s closer, and she’s not willing to wait. She expects him to drop her, to lower her to the ground and let her lead, but he doesn’t. He walks with her still pressed against him, the movement doing delicious things to her body. Cooper hadn’t had the strength to do this and it sends a thrill through her body. _

_ “Waller,” she whispers the warning, between kisses pressed to Oliver’s neck. _

_ “They’re off base. Lawton and Tatsu are on mission. The guards won’t interrupt.” _

_ That’s all the assurance Felicity needs. _

_ … _

_ “You surprise me, Blondie.” _

_ Felicity pulls back from setting the bomb to raise an eyebrow at Lawton. He grins down at her from the doorway as she brushes past him and leads the way out of the corridor. They only have about ten minutes to get away before the bomb goes off. “We’ve been working together for almost eight months, Deadshot. I think you know I can set off explosives.” _

_ He laughs, firing a shot at a guard who races around the corner. The man crumples to the ground before he can even react to the sight of them. “I wasn’t talking about your demolitions experience.” _

_ “Oh?” Felicity adjusts the radio by her ear. _

_ “You and the Hood?” _

_ She falters, hand slipping off the dial of her radio. It startles her, but she’s also surprised it took him this long. They’d been sleeping together for a couple months now, and it’s not like the guards didn’t know. They had to know. Frankly, she just thought he wasn’t saying anything. “What about it?” _

_ Lawton chuckles. “He doesn’t seem like your type. I thought you went for weak and spineless.” _

_ She rolls her eyes at the old joke. “Have you seen Robin Hood? He’s everyone’s type.” _

_ “Not my type.” _

_ Felicity wags her eyebrows suggestively as she lifts the radio to her lips. “Clockwork to White Queen, the device is set. Team Alpha is moving to the rendezvous point.” _

_ “Roger, Clockwork.” _

_ “So, you and Hood are an item?” _

_ “Why are you so curious, Deadshot? Jealous?” Felicity turns to walk backwards as she teases him. _

_ “I’m wondering what this means for the team.” _

_ “It doesn’t mean anything.” She steps over a pair of bodies left over from when they fought their way into the castle. _

_ “Clockwork! I did not peg you as a floozy.” _

_ Felicity stops short and glares at Lawton. “If I were a man, you wouldn’t be casting those insinuations. Do you think that just because I’m a woman, I don’t have urges.” _

_ Lawton’s face turns a faint shade of pink, a victory in her books. She thought he would be more used to powerful women, but apparently society still had their claws in him. Felicity offers him a smirk. _

_ “Honestly, if you had propositioned me first, we’d be having a different conversation.” She pushes open their exit and the waiting horses. _

_ “Wait, so you’re saying you would drop the Hood for me?” _

_ Oliver looks up from one horse at the question. His eyes dart between them. “What’s going on?” _

_ “I think Deadshot’s got a crush on me,” Felicity snarks as she takes Oliver’s proffered hand and lets him swing her into the saddle in front of him. His hand tightens on hers for a moment, but he doesn’t say anything. _

_ “I do not. But I wouldn’t mind getting to know you a little better either.” _

_ Oliver snorts. “Good luck with that.” _

_ “Don’t think you can handle the competition?” Floyd laughs as they trot away from the castle. _

_ Felicity rolls her eyes. Boys. They’re boys. _

_ “What competition?” _

_ She smacks Oliver’s arm in annoyance. “Stop antagonizing him.” _

_ He looks down at her, eyes smoldering as he stares at her. It unsettles her stomach, excites her. This started off as fun, a way to relieve stress, but these butterflies are not the product of just fun. This feels like it’s turning into something more. She shouldn’t let it. It’s not part of her plan. _

_ She’s here to do her time and then get out. She’s not supposed to be getting attached. It doesn’t help that Oliver’s actually insanely clever, fearless, and amazingly unselfish, especially in bed.  The sex has been happening more often. They can barely keep their hands off each other. Even now, his hand is on her upper thigh, squeezing. _

_ Felicity presses herself against him, sliding his hand along her leg. “If you don’t stop, you can forget about finding yourself in my bed.” _

_ His hand covers her stomach, pressing her into him, just inches from where her body is now screaming for him. There’s a raspy whisper in her ear. “Somehow I doubt that.” _

_ Felicity groans at his touch as the castle behind them explodes. He really has gotten under her skin. _

_ … _

_ “We’re not going to make it, are we?” _

_ Oliver looks back at her over his shoulder, faced masked by shadow. There’s no answer to her question, just vague silence in place of an answer neither of them is going to like. She shifts in the dark cave, adjusting the wires of her scanner to try to get a better picture of the enemy they’re facing. _

_ If she can get a better view, maybe she can save them. _

_ “We’re going to make it, Clockwork,” he whispers belatedly. “Think positive.” _

_ She snorts. “That’s rich, coming from you.” _

_ His fingers play with the one arrow left in his quiver. That’s it: their only defense against a veritable army of killer automatons. _

_ “Please tell me that’s a trick arrow.” _

_ His lips quirk, but his smile – the special smile she’s come to think of as her smile – remains elusive. “I would, but I promised not to lie.” _

_ Damn. Sure, she’s a genius, she had already known that, but she’d hoped this was one of those few times she was wrong. “How did they know we were here? And where is Waller?” _

_ Oliver shifts uneasily. “There’s a reason we’re the suicide squad.” He sends her a meaningful look. “We’re on our own.” _

_ No Deadshot. No Katana. No Golden Claws. Not even the latest crazy. She knows this. He keeps saying unhelpful things like that. “Give me your headset.” _

_ He raises an eyebrow but hands over the device before his watchful eye returns to the encampment below them. There was supposed to be a clear hike from here to the rendezvous. But now there was at least two hundred men and automatons between them and the rest of their team. And there would be no rescue coming.  _

_ Felicity rips the wires off, pulling out bits of machinery. Once she’s twisted the parts, molded them into a new device, she slips the final arrow from his quiver. It’s not easy, balance-wise, but she secures the new device to the arrow and holds it out for his inspection.  _

_ “Think you can shoot this?”  _

_ Carefully, he takes the augmented arrow from her hand. “What is it?”  _

_ “It releases a pulse. One that should - theoretically - render all their technology inert.” It’s a last ditch attempt at getting past the camp. “And one that should...detonate the bomb.” A final option she didn’t want to consider until everything had played out.  _

_ “Fe-li-ci-ty-”  _

_ She shakes her head to forestall more words she doesn’t want to hear. “We have to stop that bomb from falling into the wrong hands. The only way to do that is to blow it up here and now.”  _

_ “We’re too close to the blast.”  _

_ “You think I don’t know that, Oliver,” she whisper yells back. “You think I  _ want  _  to do this? It’s either that bomb or the ones strapped to our necks. You know Waller won’t settle for anything less. And I’d like to choose how I go out of this world. Neither of us chose this.  _

_ “I’ve got a life I should be living that was stolen from me by the man who sold me out to Waller, just like Waller stole yours from you, and a future with the man I love,” she slips her hand into his, “that’s impossible because we work for a woman who places bombs around our necks. If anyone’s going to set the condition of my death, it will be me.”  _

_ His lack of argument cements the real danger of their situation. “What’s the radius of the blast?” _

_ Felicity shrugs. “About half a mile, three-quarters. It shouldn’t be fully armed yet.” _

_ Oliver rises from his crouch. “We’ll get as far away as possible, then detonate the bomb. Who knows, maybe we’ll make it through this.” _

_ She sincerely doubts it. _

_ With her skirt lifted off the ground, Felicity tip toes behind Oliver. If she had a fraction of his stealth that would be even better. Instead her footfalls seem to break every branch, every step more raucous than the last. _

_ “Gah!” Felicity gathers her skirts in her arms. “This is why you should have accepted trousers,” she mutters to herself as she ties the layers up using spare wires from her bag. Originally she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the camp. She was supposed to be safe at her radio station, monitoring communications. Otherwise she would have been smarter in her wardrobe choices. _

_ Satisfied the skirts will hold – indecent as it might be – Felicity resumes walking, except Oliver hasn’t moved from his spot, eyes transfixed on her exposed legs.  _

_ “Eyes up here, Arrow. We still have a mission to accomplish.” Even if her blood calls her to pull him into her embrace, to never let him go for however long they have, Felicity’s mind is already seven steps ahead, struggling to figure a way out of this dire situation. She can’t let herself be chained to the probabilities facing her. _

_ He grins. “Have I told you how remarkable you are?” _

_ It’s the closes he gets to saying ‘I love you’ and it thrills Felicity whenever he says it. It’s not just the words, it’s the emotion behind it. But right now, he’s being ridiculous. _

_ “You are far more beautiful than any lady I ever met.” _

_ She huffs at his antics, rolling her eyes. _

_ “The most cunning opponent!” _

_ She’s always been the scourge of society, the daughter of a whore trying to make her way in the world. Outside of their little group, she had never belonged anywhere. She’d dressed like a man to take classes and educate herself when necessary. She’s skulked in alleys. She was mostly alone. Anyone she got attached to, either left or died. There were no exceptions. _

_ That included Oliver. _

_ Although, if you told her after Cooper’s betrayal, she’d fall into bed with a man she’d eventually fall in love with, she’d have laughed in your face. She still didn’t trust the depths of these feelings. One or both of them were going to die and leave the other alone. _

_ Then there was the inevitable class difference that always seemed to assert itself. _

_ Despite his rough fighting style and his presence on the team, it was obvious Oliver was highborn. It came out in the way he talked, in his manners, in scraps of memories he shared. The habits had been ground down by years of hard work, and hostility, but they couldn’t he completely erased. It was just another thing they never talked about, like the Island Waller had found him on. _

_ A prime example of society is the way he steals her hand for a kiss as he declares her “The love of my life,” in the middle of a dark cave in enemy territory. It’s enough to make her wish things were different. _

_ “You can’t love me.” She’s not blind. If they were anywhere where the faintest of society’s rules existed, they would never have met. Even in their cells, it’s clear that the class divisions remain. It’s in the guard’s eyes as they leer. _

_ He sighs as he falls into step behind her now. “This has nothing to do with the rest of the world. This is about us.” _

_ “There is no us.” It’s a lie. They both know she fights the definition of their intimate relationship, but they’ve clearly moved beyond the realm of lust and into something much more tender and complicated. _

_ Oliver stops her with a hand on her worn leather glove, his fingers closing on the metal gauntlet wrapped around her wrist. It’s a mistake: looking into his eyes. She could fall into those fathomless blues if she let herself. She has certainly almost given in before. He steps closer, an invader of her space even though the advance isn’t completely unwelcome. _

_ “Oliver…” _

_ “No,” he whispers. He’s close enough that their lips almost graze where he leans over her. “If we’re going to die here, I’m going to say this first: I’m not sure about much, but I do know two things.” _

_ Her breath catches at the sincerity in his eyes. They dazzle in the intensity of his emotion as he lifts a hand to cup her cheek. _

_ “You’re a good person.” _

_ She blinks back the unexpected tears at his statement. She gave up on that years ago. She accepted she wouldn’t amount to more than her mother in society’s eyes, so she had gone the other route, striven to prove herself to the dark side of society, the underbelly of the beast. She never dreamed that someone might one day look at her and call her a good person, not since Walter died. _

_ “And the other thing?” She asks as he brushes away a tear. _

_ “I love you.” _

_ The kiss that follows is anything but chaste. It’s all teeth, gasps, and tongue. Personal space is obliterated as Oliver pulls her to him or maybe Felicity presses against him first. Her mind is too frazzled to think clearly. _

_ It might be their last kiss, and there’s some of that desperation in the kiss, but it’s more powerful than any other one they’ve shared. It forces her to acknowledge she’s truly in love with her partner, that he’s it for her. There won’t be anyone else, even if they don’t die tonight. _

_ She pulls away reluctantly, putting distance between them. _

_ No words are needed as they resume their hike to the nearest peak. Oliver needs an outcropping to shoot from and it gets them closer to the extraction point. They trust the rest of the team is good enough to get away. _

_ Oliver glances around the corner at his chosen outcropping and falls back. She peeks around him and notices the camp sentries exactly where they wanted to be. The same guards who cut off their escape before. She glances back at Oliver and the determined set of his face. _

_ “I’ll take them out. As soon as I move, you run. You can make it to the extraction point-“ _

_ “No,” she growls, poking him in the chest. “I’m you’re not leaving, I’m not leaving.” She grabs the modified arrow from him and plays with the gears. She’s crazy for not think about this before, not that there’s any guaranty it will work at all. “That will give us at most thirty seconds after impact before it triggers the bomb. At most.” _

_ He nods grimly. It’s something he can accept, the change to save them both. “But you have to promise to get a head start.” _

_ She nods. As long as he’s right behind her… _

_ She moves first, throwing herself around the corner and taking out one sentry with a blast of lightning from her taser. He lands with a satisfying thud as his partner recovers enough to scream in alarm. _

_ Oliver has him incapacitated a moment later, but the damage has been done. True to her word, because she knows sticking around will only distract him, Felicity races down the path, toward their extraction point, gun out and aimed at any approaching soldiers or machines. If she can slow them down, Oliver has a better chance of getting away. _

_ The stitch her side brings her to a stumbling halt at what she estimates to be a good distance from the camp and the blast. Still mindful of pursuit, and the fact that she’s deep in enemy territory, Felicity ducks into the shadow of a tree, only peeking around it to look for Oliver. _

_ His silhouette is illuminated by the bright light of the camp going up in flames. He staggers to a stop to turn back to the brightly colored flames. He’s maybe a hundred feet closer than her, and for once she’s glad her math is wrong, that she overestimated the radius of the bomb because it probably saved their lives. _

_ Felicity clutches her side as she rounds the tree, leaning against the trunk that supports her. They’re going to make her go through those endurance drills she hates so much again. _

_ Oliver’s eyes meet hers as she reaches up for her headset, turning it back on. “White Queen, we’re clear.” _

_ She has no doubt they can see the destruction from their vantage at the extraction point. _

_ “Color me surprised, Clockwork. We leave in ten minutes.” _

_ She hates the woman, but she desperately wants off this mountain. She turns to her partner. “Let’s go. Wal-“ _

_ Oliver grabs her mid-sentence. She hits a solid wall of muscle. His lips cut off any further reaction, his fingers tangling into her hair to tilt her face to a better angle. _

_ This is kiss is different from last time: slow, as if he’s memorizing her, her taste, her feel. Her lips part and Felicity sinks further into the kiss. Is this what it feels like? When you’re in love? _

_ Felicity escapes for air, staring into his adrenaline-bright eyes. Diverting her gaze is an impossibility, but the love staring back at her…that’s dangerous. It makes her hope she’s as good as he thinks she is. _

_ Hope like that is dangerous. _

_ …  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but I hope the Olicity of it all made up for it! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

“Laurel Lance, you have failed this city.”

The words are announced like a death sentence, grim and duty-bound. She doesn’t know who Robin Hood thinks he is to tell her  _ she’s  _ failed this city when she’s only trying to protect young, defenseless women, women this fool doesn’t even know exist. Her knives are in motion as soon as she sees the muscles in arms tense. Unfortunately for him, she’s trained intensely with archers. She knows their strengths, their tells. They might vary slightly from person to person but she still knows what to expect.

Her dress tangles around her legs as she strides forward, knocking another arrow aside. Laurel flings another three knives. She has to admit: this clown is good. He can dodge and still shoot with deadly accuracy. If she hadn’t married into a family of assassins who loved ancient weaponry, she’d be dead times over.

An arrow slices through her upper arm, barely deflected from hitting her heart…eleven times over.

Laurel ducks behind a wall, an involuntary hiss escaping her clenched teeth as she examines the scratch. The arrows aren’t poisoned or they don’t appear to be since she survived the first shot. It could be slow acting but that seems unlikely.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she calls as she takes stock of her remaining weapons, which are regrettably few. 

“Laurel Lance, you are found guilty of murder, most recently of the serving girl, and the attempted murder of Kyle Reston.”

She stills at the word ‘attempted’. This idiot didn’t botch her job, did he? This was exactly why she disliked poison: It was too unreliable. “What have you done?”

“Reston will live. You have failed.”

“You moron! You’re setting free a serial rapist marked for death! He won’t survive the night despite your meddling.” Thomas will get to him, even if she can’t. This isn’t just a job for either of them. It’s personal, a favor to Thea Queen.

“Who are you to play judge and jury?”

Laurel snorts. “Is it any different than what you’re doing, Robin Hood?”

His foot comes down hard at the name, steps that had been otherwise silent now audible. She grins. It hit a nerve. “You think you can be some urban hero, Greenie? You’ve already determined my punishment for perceived crimes. What makes you any better than me?”

“I don’t kill. I leave my victims to face the justice of the law.”

She strikes, using his voice to aim. The blade sticks in the archer’s arm but misses the arrow that slices her cheek as she turns to avoid the arrow to coming at her eye. Now  _ that _ was definitely a kill shot. She glares at him while the hand behind her back plays with her siren call. “So much for taking your victims’ alive, Robin Hood. Aren’t you supposed to steal from the rich and give to the needy?”

His injured arm is no longer strong enough to pull back the bowstring but if Robin’s anything like her husband that doesn’t mean much. “You’re right. Maybe I’ll just take from your house later to night, to compensate your victims’ families.”

As if Roy and Sin would make it that easy. Laurel snorts as her siren dial clicks into place. There it is. She swings her arm forward, pressing the manual screech. She has a moment of subline victory as the sonic blast crashes into Robin Hood and sends him flying out the window,  _ one _ blissful moment before a sudden burst of pain sends her to her knees.

Barely containing her agonized scream, Laurel jerkily looks down at her torso and the dagger sticking out of her corset. The bastard got her good. The pain pulsing through her body brings Laurel to her knees. She knows enough about the human body to know how bad her injury really is. If Thomas were to find her right now, she might survive the night.  _ Might. _

Her fingers already feel cold, her vision tunneling. They’ll find her, the whole of society in the center of a destroyed hallway, a body around the corner. The Merlyns will have a hell of a time explaining this one.

The world spins as a silhouette approaches the hallway. A woman of society, she vaguely thinks, waiting for the imminent scream of horror. She must be dying faster than she thought since she doesn’t hear a thing. She didn’t think deafness set in first.

The woman is a peculiarity though. Instead of screaming or fainting, she kneels beside Laurel, lowering her to the floor as she murmurs under her breath. Laurel’s too far gone to understand the words but the tone is soothing.

The last thing Laurel sees before darkness suffocates her are glinting, blue eyes.

…

Thomas fiddled with his watch, conscious of the eyes on him, even if he had used the excuse of catching up with some old mates to escape being drawn into another seven dances. It’s easier to pretend to listen to pompous men talk about their great concerns than deal with flirtatious women he’s not interested in. The only woman who interests him is his wife and she is infuriatingly oblivious to his advances, dismissing them like an annoying fly.

He’ll endeavor to make his intentions clearer. He could care less about children, perfectly happy with an adopted brood but he does love his wife and he’d like that to be acknowledged.

His eyes skirt the room once more. Where is she? She’s taking too long, even if she had to improvise, she should be back by now. Reston returned seven minutes ago…the poison…it should have taken effect now, or at least be hindering him, but instead he appears to be the life of the party, flirting with Sara Lance. A frown settles on his features. He’d seen Laurel spike the drink, seen Reston drink it, which means someone must have given him the antidote.

They’re blown.

Thomas leaves his full glass of wine on a tray and strides across the room with single-minded focus as Reston tries to entice his sister-in-law out of the crowded room.

“Sara,” he calls once he’s close enough to not draw the attention of half the ballroom. She smiles up at him as Reston frowns like Thomas just interrupted something as if he cares one way or another. “Have you seen, Laurel?”

“No. Not since the powder room.” Sara glances around the room as if she’ll magically spot Laurel.

“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” Reston cuts in impatiently. “She nearly collided with a maid earlier, perhaps she went outside for a breath of fresh air. “You know, you should watch out. It looked like she was drinking pretty heavily.”

The threatening undertone is not lost on either Thomas or Sara. Quentin Lance’s drinking problem is one of society’s well-known secrets. It started when Laurel was kidnapped and never really disappeared. It certainly didn’t help that Mister Lance’s marriage had been scandalously advantageous, surrounded by rumors of impropriety. Laurel was born a year later with nothing to point at a shot-gun marriage, but still Quentin was never loved by society.

To be so careless as to hint at that disgrace in front of his daughter? Reston was a fool. Maybe he just has a death wish.

Sara moves forward in retaliation, faster than Reston can track. Thomas wouldn’t stop her even if Reston wasn’t one of his targets. He deserves it for a comment like that. As it is, the slap draws the attention of several onlookers as Sara growls:

“Don’t you ever talk about my family like that again!”

She storms off and Thomas steps closer, adjusting the buttons on his suit jacket. “I suggest you listen to the lady for your own sake. The slap was a warning, and the Lance sisters only give you one.” If he were any man, married to any other woman, this would be grounds for a challenge to a duel. But Laurel can defend herself.

“And here I thought he didn’t approve of you,” Reston sneers at Thomas, eyes narrowed.

Thomas summons his public smile. Sure, he’s not Quentin’s favorite person. Hell, he only gave his blessing on Laurel’s marriage for her sake, but that’s because Quentin is a good man. He’s had his ups and downs in life but at his core, Quentin is a good person, a believer in justice and equality. Thomas isn’t one by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s wise enough to respect those qualities in others.

“How about you show me where you last saw my wife and we’ll see how that goes?” His mask is firmly in place even as his fingers itch to end this leech’s life here and now, secrecy and society be damned.

“You know, I used to like you, Merlyn.” Reston scowls as he leads Thomas through the room to the exact spot Thomas saw her last. “Here we are. The la-“

Thomas spots the metal tag as Reston’s eyes go mysteriously blank. VIRUS. It must be. He waits a beat for Reston to continue or for the villainess to overtake his body.

“Last place he saw your wife,” Reston’s voice continues with barely a trace of malice. “If it helps, I don’t think he’s lying.” His voice almost sounds pleasant now, something he wasn’t aware it could ever do.

“VIRUS,” he says as politely as possible without letting his anger and impatience boil over. “My wife-“

“Is hurt. This scumbag didn’t do it. She had a run-in with your thief.”

“Where is she?” If he had a sword, this meat suit would already be dead. All he cares about it  _ her _ . The whole world could burn as long as she was by his side.

“She’s with me, the real me. I’m patching her up. It appears your thief is working with someone.”

“How-“

“No time to talk now, Merlyn. Your wife left quite the mess in the hallway, so I need this body to clean up, quickly. Don’t worry, I’ll kill him when this is over. Say your excuses, say Laurel’s feeling under the weather or whatever excuses rich people use.” Reston waves him off, but Thomas grabs his arm.

“I want the pleasure of killing Reston.” It’s a little disquieting, staring into your victim’s eyes as you discuss who gets to kill him, but the eyes staring back are far more calculating than Reston’s eyes ever were. This death though, this kill is his. “And I want him conscious for it.”

Reston nods stiffly. “Fine. Meet me in the back hallway. We can make it look like a rape gone wrong.”

He frowns. Rape gone wrong? Did Laurel kill the thief? Did someone get caught in the crosshairs? What the hell is going on?

Only half engaged, Thomas makes excuses for himself and Laurel, receiving a good number of knowing looks, secret smiles, and even some unsolicited advice that he will never take because Laurel would skin him alive if she were to ever get pregnant. But apparently, that is the only assumption being made right now. If she’s suddenly sick, it must be morning sickness and all of society wishes to give their input.

It takes him longer than he wants to extract himself from the clutches of the society matrons, and he has to promise to visit with Dinah Lance in a couple days. Laurel won’t like that, but it can’t be helped.

His host lets him leave with a joyous wink, and a “take good care of her, lad.”

He escapes with fake smiles and jests, slips into the hallway without a problem only to be brought up short by the sight in front of him. The walls are damaged, punctured with knives and arrows, smeared with blood. The window is shattered, glass blasted outside of the building. It looks suspiciously like the damage Laurel’s Canary Cry is known to make.

“What happened here?” Thomas asks, eyes widening at the arrows collected alongside Laurel’s throwing knives on the floor beside Reston.

The man currently being controlled by VIRUS looks up from his perusal of an arrow. His sleeves are rolled up and his clothes liberally smeared with blood. There are scratches up and down his arms and face, that weren’t there before. There’s a girl’s body slumped against the wall in front of him, her fingernails bearing signs of blood and skin under them.

He steps closer to get a look at the girl. She doesn’t look like one of Reston’s victims. His attacks have never resulted in serious physical injury before. This girl has been gutted, violently, her tongue ripped from her mouth as she stares vacantly ahead. She had not been part of the plan.

“Your wife’s work, I presume. She must have done something pretty awful for her to react this way.” Reston passes him the arrows and knives. He stands slowly. “I want a closer look at those back at my lab. Hold on to that for me.”

“Did she do this?” He gestures to the dead girl. She looks incapable of the violence displayed as Thomas scans the hall, eyes conjuring up how the fight could have gone down. He knows better than most how capable women are at fighting, but she doesn’t show many signs of having fought except for the manufactured ones. Plus, there’s no bow to be found.

“No. I tracked your thief here, or rather his technology signature. I think your wife did this and then he, or his accomplice more likely, went after her. Arrows were never really Cooper’s style.” Reston’s voice sounds robotic in obvious juxtaposition to the words.

VIRUS has a personal history with his thief, not just a past partnership gone wrong, but an intimate knowledge of how he works. But there’s the puzzle of the arrow. It’s not technologically advanced. It’s just a simple weapon.

Thomas turns one of the arrows over in his hands. It’s not the level of art and beauty his father craves in his weapons, but a deadly tool, beautiful in its simplicity, hand-crafted for one purpose. Whoever this archer is, he knows his craft, is devoted to it so much that he carves each arrow with complete trust that it can do its job. Each arrow is an extension of the archer himself.

His lips twitch: a worthy opponent.

“I think I’m done here,” Reston announces, turning to face Thomas. “Deal with this meat sack and then get to your carriage. Your driver has my address.”

Roy?

Before he can question that, Reston blinks and the calm mask disappears as he staggers backwards, taking in the blood and then the body on the floor. “Angelica!”

“She’s dead,” Thomas says helpfully as he pulls the gilded dagger from her stomach. It’s not one of Laurel’s and it’s too fancy to belong to the mystery man. “Judging by the brutality of it, she must have been helping you rape those girls, Kyle.” It’s the only explanation he can find that makes sense.

Reston gapes at him, still struggling with the shock. “Merlyn?”

Thomas grins at him. “My wife gets angry when rapists walk free, angrier when she finds they work in pairs.”

Kyle swallows, backing up to the wall. “Your…wife?”

“Yes, Kyle,” he drawls, playing with the knife, testing its balance, “my  _ wife _ . IT looks like someone slipped you the antidote to her poison, but this here is the perfect opportunity. See this scene? Well, to me, it looks like you tried to rape that poor girl and she fought back. She may have died but she took her attacker with her.”

Thomas strikes before all his words hit home, stabbing shallowly and viciously like he’s the one fighting for his life, although he makes sure to kit a few vital organs for good measure. He steps aside and pushes Kyle’s body so it lands across the hall from the serving girl. Content in the scene set, Thomas places the blade beside the girl’s hand and takes his leave. 

Job complete, now it’s time to find his wife and figure out just what Roy knows about VIRUS. 

…

“Laurel Lance is dead.”

“What?”

Oliver throws his hood back as he reaches the confines of the waiting carriage and slips his bow into his quiver. He runs a hand over his face, smearing the green grease paint over his eyes. He hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t intended to hurt the woman he once loved. They’d been engaged for heaven’s sake. Although he would never have believed her capable of what he witnessed tonight. “Laurel Lance. I saw her kill a serving girl in cold blood, and when I tried to apprehend her, she fought back. I…”

He remembers the terrible moment, watching his blade sink into her abdomen as he flew backwards out the window. Just the memory imprinted in his mind makes it hard to breathe. “She forced my hand.”

His companion leans back in the carriage, shifting in unease. “That’s not great news.”

“Not great?” Oliver laughs without amusement at his own expense. “Sara is going to skin me alive.” He slumps in the seat.

“Could it have been prevented?”

Oliver scowls, recalling the way Laurel fought, unlike anything he would have anticipated. That’s part of what it got as bad as it did. He didn’t attack like she was a competent adversary and she got the better of him. “Not once the fight had started.”

The man runs a hand over his jaw. “So she was a good fighter then? Laurel Merlyn?”

A pause. “Merlyn?”

“She married Malcolm’s son a couple years ago. It was a big to do, quite scandalous in some corners of society.” He chuckles darkly. “She was kidnapped, missing for several years. It was a shock to society that anyone would have her, let along Thomas Merlyn.”

Oliver sighs. “It’s not a coincidence, is it? We rob Merlyn Global Enterprises and now we run into one.”

“Oh, the Merlyns are definitely connected somehow.” Another voice chirps from a dark corner next to Oliver.

The familiar burn of anger courses through Oliver’s system whenever he’s reminded of the reason he’s here. “Did you have to bring him along?”

“This was my tip!” Cooper protests leaning forward, into the light.

“And all you did was sit in the coach. You’re useless.” In truth he just serves as a unnecessary reminder of all Oliver lost when Felicity fell into the river.

“Alright, Kid, calm down.”

“Really, Slade. What good is he in the field?” Oliver glares at Slade and then at Cooper.

“You let Felicity in the field,” Cooper counters, clearly not reading the expression on Oliver’s face as the carriage lurches into motion.

Oliver’s fists clench. “Felicity was an asset. You’re just a liability.”

“I thought after three years we’d put this behind us. The extraction didn’t go as planned and Felicity died. It wasn’t something we could have anticipated. You’ve forgiven the rest of the crew, why am I different?”

“Because you’re the reason she was in that God-forsaken place to begin with!” Ire, hot and thick, races through his veins. Laurel’s death is dragging up these buried feelings and all he wants to do is get out of here, to get away from this confining space.

“Sheldon,” Slade snipes, cutting off Cooper’s attempt at a reply. “When we get back, try to track that signal you thought you found. Oliver,” a longer pause. “Figure out how you’re going to explain this to Sara.”

… 

“Where are we going, Roy?” Thomas glares at his stable boy, the young man he picked up off the streets and gave a home, training, everything. If Laurel’s life wasn’t in danger, he would be torturing the boy now, albeit reluctantly. He would take no pleasure in that.

Roy glances over. “Union Square.”

That close? Thomas frowns. “So when were you going to tell me you worked for VIRUS?”

The kid snorts. “You don’t work for VIRUS. She either grows on you or she takes you over.” He pauses as the carriage rounds the corner. “Blondie and I grew up together. Our moms worked in the same establishment. She looked out for me when my mom died until she disappeared about five years ago, and that’s when you found me. I was looking for her and got messed up.” Roy grimaces. “She reappeared about a year ago and swore me to secrecy, but I haven’t told her anything. She has her own rats for that.”

Thomas’s hand tightens on one of Laurel’s knives in his pocket. He doesn’t want to hurt the boy, but if his security has been compromised…

“I know you don’t believe me but you and Laurel saved me. I wouldn’t betray you, just like I wouldn’t betray her and she knows that.”

“And the message you handed me today?”

Roy pulls the carriage to a stop. “I told her you were looking for her. The message really did come from one of Laurel’s birds.” He hops down from the driver’s bench. “She wanted your help, so she reached out in the first place. She doesn’t do that often.”

“You know her well, then,” Thomas says, following Roy down. “She trusts you.”

“Trust is a strong word.” Roy leads him back to the stables, unhooking the horses and directing them into a couple of empty stalls. “I’m not sure she really trusts anyone, except maybe John and Lyla.”

Roy sighs and fusses with his hair for a moment before leading Thomas around to the front of a mansion as large as his and Laurel’s. It looks picturesque, the lights all aglow as the lights are in every other house around the square. This one hardly stands out. It’s made of brick, like the ones around it. There’s a path around back where the stables are presumably. 

Thomas pauses. “I know this house.”

“It once belonged to Walter Steele. It was held in trust by the Queen Family. Blondie apparently knew Mr. Steele. It’s hers now.” Roy walks up and rings the doorbell.

It opens on a pregnant woman who actually looks relieved to see them. “Thank God! They’re downstairs. Follow me.”

A quick glance at Roy, and Thomas follows the woman into the house. He keeps a gloved hand on Laurel’s knives as the woman leads them through room after brightly colored room. His own house is mostly dark in colors. Each room here is a different color, a bright color with ornate decorations. And the contraptions, contraptions in every room. Gears and clockwork all polished to gleaming perfection. They lead him straight through the house to a clearly new addition.

Shock stops him in the doorway.

The room is as large as any ballroom he’s ever been in with floors of polished stone, but that’s where the resemblance ends. The ceiling is lofty with arches criss-crossing the distance.  Wires hang from the arches and tables line the room on both sides. Each table appears to be overflowing with the same piles of metal and gears that made up the devices in the rooms they passed through.

And there, in the middle of the room, on a table just like the others lies the prone body of his wife, stripped down to nothing.

“Roy, get out of here,” Thomas commands, striding into the room. He doesn’t like the look of the large man looming over his naked wife and he’s not too pleased with the blonde woman he assumes is VIRUS from Roy’s inane nickname. “What is going on?”

His stomach turns at the sight of blood staining Laurel’s abdomen. She lies unconscious on the table, only a few strips of cloth protecting her modesty. “What are you doing to my wife?!”

“Saving her life. Now let me do my job,” the man shouts without taking his eyes off the wound he’s stitching up.

“Peace, Digg. He’s worried about his wife. She’s going to be fine.” The blonde turns to him.

After all the mystery surrounding VIRUS, all the nefarious things she’s done, the daunting ability she has to turn people into robots, this is definitely not what Thomas expected. She’s short of stature, sure, but she’s also decked out in all the dress and trappings of society, pearls in her hair and embroidered gown. Her lips are the only thing less than pristine about her dress. They’re a vibrant red that is more suited to a brothel than a ball.

He glances at Laurel’s wound, swallowing the bile in his throat. “How is she?”

VIRUS pushes him back. “She got a knife to the gut. I was able to heal most of the internal damage with this.” She holds up a small vial before placing it on a side table. “It’s a serum of tiny robots, nanites. They were able to keep her together until I could get her here to John. I haven’t managed to get them to completely repair the damage, just temporarily hold it all together.”

He tears his eyes from Laurel to stare at her as she pulls the blonde hair off. A wig. He hadn’t expected that, like he didn’t expect the black hair that tumbles over one shoulder as she turns back to him. “VIRUS?”

She raises an eyebrow at him as she pulls off her jewelry. “Who else would I be? I assume Roy called me by that absurd nickname.”

“But you’re not actually blonde,” he feels compelled to point out. He has to remind himself that this woman somehow managed to earn his father’s respect.

A laugh. “I used to be.” She sweeps her black tresses into a messy bun at the nape of her neck and Thomas catches a hint of purple among the black. “But black fits my mood better most days. So, while John saves her life, why don’t we talk?”

He frowns as she walks over and drops into a chair. She reaches behind her back and pulls out a metal plate similar to the tags he saw her use to control those people. She places it on the table and shifts back in the chair.

“Come on,” she says. With a jerk of her wrists, she turns the wheels to the side of the chair. She lurches into motion, the chair surprisingly silent on the floor. “So, you ready to find a thief?”

Deftly she swings the chair around to face him in a sitting room, in a spot clearly left vacant for her in that chair. 

“I thought you’d found the thief.” He cautiously sits down, lowers himself onto a chair. He’s not sure how to deal with this unsettling person. She’s a mastermind obviously, which makes her a threat regardless of the wheeled chair, yet he has a thousand questions about her condition. Is it real? Or is it a fabrication?

“I have a way to track him. There’s a difference, and because of my…mobility issues, I have trouble following it, which is where you would come in.” She passes him a cup of tea.

Thomas takes it politely but doesn’t sip the drink, not when he hasn’t seen it prepared with his own eyes. Her sharp eyes notice it, but she doesn’t comment, just sips her own drink.

“You didn’t seem to have trouble getting around earlier.”

She grimaces, placing her tea cup on the table. “That is a parlor trick. It’s only good for short amounts of time before it starts to have a detrimental effect on the body. It was the original purpose for VIRUS, the bugs I use to control people. Unfortunately, it does not correct my spinal column the way I would wish.”

“Is that how you got into technology? Because you couldn’t walk?”

“You know, it’s impolite to ask questions like that.” She tilts her head. “That’s another thing I need to accept in this partnership. I will share with you what you need to know. Nothing more. We’ll work together to get your thief. My team will provide intelligence and equipment. Yours will do the more physical side of things. Don’t ask about my history, I won’t ask about yours. Are we clear?”

Thomas stares at her. He doesn’t like this. He’s not a fan of going in blind. He likes having the upperhand. This girl, the thief. It feels like he’s losing his touch. And yet, he doesn’t have much of a choice. He can’t fail in finding the thief for the sake of his own curiosity. He needs the stolen device. He’s on a deadline after all.

So he nods even as his mind roils. “We’re clear. We have an accord.”

He feels like he’s signed a deal with the devil.

_ … _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN! *dramatic music* 
> 
> Well, I hope you guys liked that chapter. And I know there are a LOT of unanswered questions, but they will almost all be answered next chapter when we get our last bit of flashbacks. And as always, comment below to let me know that you thought! 
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! You're all amazing! 
> 
> xoxo


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**_Four Years Ago_ **

_ “I could get used to this.” _

_ Felicity draws her finger over the muscles of Oliver’s chest, watching avidly as they twitch and jump in response. His arm, the one keeping her leashed to his side, pulls her flush against him, naked skin, legs intertwined, twisted in sheets. She and Cooper never had this, the lounging and cuddling. Even surrounded by Waller and the ever-present death threats of their bomb collars, Felicity felt safe, grounded. Here in the wee hours of the morning she could pretend they weren’t prisoners, that they could just  _ be _ in happiness. _

_ Oliver trails his hand up her side, from ass to breast. “I know what you mean.” _

_ Felicity’s eyes drift lazily up to meet his, smiling at his intensity. She could bask in it really, just stay forever in the comfort of his love.  This man, this beautiful man gave her hope and love in an environment completely devoid of it. “What would you do if you got out of here?” _

_ It’s a runaway question, a fleeting thought she barely dared ask herself that caught her unawares, and now that it's out in the open she can’t force it back into the box it popped out of. It sits in the air between them, an unholy hope she never means to entertain, but Oliver? Oliver makes her want to think about the future and what it might hold. He gives him hope. _

_ “ _ When _ we get out of here,” he asserts, “we can go wherever you want,  _ do  _ whatever as long as you’re by my side, I don’t care.” _

_ And who could have imagined she’d fall for a giant sap, of all things? “What if I wanted to get as far away from people as possible?” _

_ “Then we’d go to the farthest patch of uninhabited land and live in isolation.” He grins, rolling them so he hovers over her and starts pressing kisses to all the bare skin he can reach. _

_ “And if I wanted to go back to a city? To wreak havoc that could get us sent right back to Waller?” The question is breathy as Oliver wakes her body up for a repeat of earlier, and just like earlier, what was supposed to be a jesting question, is dead serious. _

_ Oliver stills, lips hovering over her collarbone as his eyes bore into hers. A moment passes, a moment where she worried this will be where he draws the line. As much as it kills her to admit, she doesn’t know how she would handle him walking away from this. _

_ “Then I guess, we’d have to be very,” kiss, “very,” nip, “careful.” Oliver’s lips land back on hers, pulling her into a deep, dirty kiss that is all tongue and teeth. The kind that promises more, at least until he pulls away to growl in her ear: “I mean it. As long as it’s the two of us, I don’t care where or what. I will always have your back.” _

_ “What about your family?” Another question she can’t hold in. _

_ This one gives Oliver pause, his eyes searching Felicity’s face. “If you would go with me, sure. I’d return, but I’m not the person I was. That life doesn’t interest me anymore.” He sighs. “They’ve already moved on.” _

_ Felicity pushes his shoulder, flipping them so she straddles Oliver’s hips, wondering when she got sentimental about family. She brushes her long hair back from her face. “For the  record,” she whispers against his lips: “If that was what you wanted, I would follow you home, Always.” _

_ “Really?” he says. “Always?” _

_ “If it’s you asking,” she answers breathily before Oliver surges forward to seal their lips and there’s no talking for a while after that. _

_ … _

_ “You seem rather perky today, Miss Smoak. Do you have good news for me?” _

_ Felicity dims a little at Waller’s voice but forces her humming to remain upbeat. “You’ll be happy to hear I’ve perfected the automatic heart. I got it to beat on its own this morning.” She also figured out how to connect Ivo’s theoretical neural pathways to integrate the flesh and the metal. She’s closer than ever to making a sustainable automaton that can act on its own. Not that she plans to share that with Waller. If she learns she doesn’t need her Suicide Squad, their precarious spaces on the team are all in jeopardy. She’d kill them in an instant. Felicity has for more self-preservation than that. _

_ “That’s it?” _

_ She is so underappreciated here. Felicity huffs. “Floyd’s eye currently works on a crude integration system that is constantly at war with itself.  _ This  _ technology is leagues beyond that. I can connect his eye directly to his nerves. It would only to come out charge. I might even be able to create an organic battery that runs off the same energy that the rest of the body does. Imagine it: no down time between missions. It would give the eye more power and thus more function. It only targets right now. I might be able to create an eye that adjusts the sight, like those goggles that track heat or allow you to see in total darkness. Not to mention the benefits of automaton organs.” Felicity sighs at the woman’s impassive face. “ The integration system isn’t quite perfect yet but if I can get it to respond to brain signals, prosthetics, automaton limbs would be under body control. None of those rickety limbs that barely respond: an  _ actual  _ arm made of metal.” _

_ Waller pokes at the glass box with the beating heart. “I asked you for a completely autonomous unit, one that could pass for human. Ivo claimed to be close.” _

_ Felicity snorts. “The closest he got was replacing a person’s organs with machines and no power source. He was convinced he could replace the stomach and intestines with a large power pack, which worked on his simple logic, except that the rest of the system was unsustainable and rapidly deteriorated. The human body is just a flesh and blood machine. It can think for itself and we can improve the smaller parts.” _

_ She’s on a roll now, the words making her brave as she stares down Waller. She’s taking a big risk here, assuming Waller doesn’t know the intricacies of Ivo’s research, doesn’t realize how close the man was to hijacking the human mind and stripping people of their free will. The man was the definition of evil, if not genius, even if his experiments often made Felicity sick to her stomach. The man just needed Felicity’s knowledge of machines and electrical current. As soon as she learned the human body was full of electrical currents just like some of her advanced machines, her whole world opened up. Ivo wouldn’t have needed batteries so long as he kept the right body parts. The subject would only need increased calorie consumption although the longevity of such an undertaking was still uncertain, mostly theoretical at this point. _

_ “So you can’t make me a fully human automaton.” Waller says it like a death sentence and the collar around Felicity’s neck feels all the heavier. _

_ “I’m saying you can place machines in people’s bodies and they can power themselves. Heck, you could even place your little bomb necklaces inside someone.” She pauses as she realizes what she said and how problematic that could be. “Which I am absolutely  _ not _ recommending but look: real world application. Got a problematic politician? Give him a surgery and blackmail him. It’s flawless. Almost. You’d have to convince him you meant business but it’d still give you the control you want. It’s not perfect, granted, but it has merit.” _

_ Waller grins then, the hair-raising, never-a-good-sign, evil-villain grin. “That is indeed a marvelous insight, Miss Smoak.” Waller looks over the open pages of notes. “Perhaps you are more useful after all.” _

_ With those not-so-comforting words, Waller strides from the room, and her ARGUS-assigned lab assistant sighs in relief. Felicity scowls at the timid lab rat of a human being, the only civilian she has contact with. He’s too pale, too skinny, and too easily startled. He spent his whole first week watching her with wide, frightened eyes and she took more than a little pleasure in playing up her dramatic nature to present a true picture of villainy. She’d maintained the façade for over a week to the point where the rat cowered in her presence before the first babble slipped out. After that, her threats never had the same effect unless one of the boys were there to back her up. As if she wasn’t intimidating on her own! _

_ “Glad I’m not one of you criminals,” the rat mutters under his breath. _

_ Felicity leans over the lab table to smile at him as disarmingly as possible. “You don’t have enough of a backbone to be a criminal. You couldn’t even work up the nerve to steal that vial of morphine for your drug fix. And here I thought addicts had no such compunction.” She places a little bottle between them in a challenge, smirking as his fingers begin to twitch. She plays with the bottle, spinning between her fingers. “I could just leave this here, walk away. No one would be the wiser.” _

_ Sure, Waller and her henchmen would catch on but it wouldn’t be pinned on Lab Rat. It’ll be pinned on the Joker probably, which only works to Felicity’s advantage. The guy creeps her out, and she’s not just referring to the unconventional makeup choices. _

_ Felicity turns her back with a grin: the Rat’s eyes hadn’t left the battle. Now it sits there on the counter, his for the taking. It would be too much for the spineless coward to resist. _

_ “Miss Smoak.” _

_ All her giddy triumph deflates at the cool voice as she turns the corner back to the training rooms from her lab. The joy of outwitting the Rat is replaced by trepidation. If Waller heard her misleading one of her agents, the results would be catastrophic. _

_ Instead of anger and threats produced in a cold, unfeeling voice, Waller says calmly: “If you have a problem with my staff, the answer isn’t to bribe them with drugs. It’s getting harder to find someone able to stomach what you do.” _

_ Felicity’s lip curls. “I can barely stomach this and according to you I’m a despicable criminal. But I have lines, lines that I will not cross. Like no drug-crazed rats in my lab. They’re unreliable and far too accommodating to those who offer them their next fix.” _

_ “Isn’t that what you were doing? Bribing him with a fix?” _

_ “I was trying to get that useless sack thrown out of my lab. He’s a nuisance. You don’t trust me alone in the lab. Fine! Send one of your soldiers to keep an eye on me. Send my work out to be checked, but don’t force me to work with incompetent, drug-addled, hospital rejects.” This _ , this, _ is the moment when Waller cuts her losses and decides it's time for another inventor or doctor on her team.  She’s dead for this insubordination. _

_ “Very well. Your concern is noted.” _

_ Felicity blinks in surprise. _

_ “I’m not blind to your contributions to this organization, Miss Smoak. Criminal or not, I would have hired you. Perhaps after your tenure is up, you’ll agree to stay, you and Mister Queen.” _

_ The shiver down her spine has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the implied threat in Waller’s voice. Waller’s threat is as much an offer as Felicity’s decision to join the Suicide Squad, which is to say no choice at all. And it’s not just her welfare being threatened. There’s so much more at stake now. This is why caring for people always gets you  into trouble. _

_ “I’ll send you a better assistant, one who’s specialty is technology. Let me know if you need a doctor or test subjects. I still want an automaton able to infiltrate society, Miss Smoak.” _

_ She leaves Felicity standing in the hallway, unsure if this is a good turn of events or not. _

_ … _

_ Raymond Palmer is an absolute terror. Sure, he’s incredibly smart and able to keep up with her tech and her babbles. He’s her perfect match in the lab even if he is infuriatingly  _ good _ person. Everything he does is for the greater good so no one dies the way his fiancé did. It’s  noble, noble like Oliver who protects the whole squad because they’re his team. _

_ But Ray Palmer? Palmer believes the world should be fair and he talks tirelessly. Felicity’s positive this is part of Waller’s punishment. There are too many words, all the time. It’s enough to make Felicity introspective. She finds herself apologizing to Oliver and the rest of  the team for her constant streams of babble, when Lawton starts laughing. _

_ “Your talking is fine, Felicity,” Oliver assures her with a frown for Floyd. _

_ “Palmer’s getting on your nerves, isn’t he?” Lawton asks between choked laughs. “That man is oblivious to all social cues. He’s never lived outside his fancy home, never been forced to do unsavory things to survive. You talk because your brain can’t contain all your thoughts. If we had a problem with your talking, we’d let you know, Blondie.” _

_ There are nods all around and Felicity feels monumentally better as they breach the door and free a squad of soldiers without a single casualty. At least not on their side. The Suicide Squad doesn’t leave any witnesses. _

_ “Is that what’s been bothering you?” Oliver asks quietly after it's all over and they strip off blood-soaked clothes and prepare to step under the shower heads until the water runs clear again. She looks up at him, a little lost for a moment, lost enough that he has to clarify. “You’re worried you annoy us with your rambles?” _

_ Felicity sighs, “Not really. I know the team protects me.” She’s just feeling vulnerable, and she doesn’t like it. It feels like her heart’s exposed, a big open target visible to everyone, a target that looks suspiciously like Oliver. _

_ “Should I be worried about this new lab assistant?” _

_ He’s teasing, trying to ease her sour mood, but it’s hard to feel better when she wants to throw up her last meal. In fact, it doesn’t really do anything except stress Felicity out more. It’s not Ray they need to worry about. Not even close. The threat’s the same as it's always been: Amanda Waller. She was bound to find out about Felicity and Oliver eventually, and they were both prepared to deal with that. _

_ No, the real issue is what she’s currently burying as deep as possible under the Ray drama. It wasn’t even a real issue, just a sneaking suspicion from a couple weeks ago that she had brushed off, but the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn’t going away. And while she could deal with the Suicide Squad, that problem, as indefinite as it was, could not. And if it couldn’t…if she really was what she thought… _

_ “Fe-li-ci-ty,” Oliver prompts in that soft voice he only ever uses on her. He pulls her off to the side into an enclosed alcove. “What is going on? And don’t say –“ _

_ “Nothing.” _

_ “Nothing,” he finishes with her, his eyes telling her he doesn’t believe a word of it. “Honey, you’ve been distracted and distant. You’ve been sick on and off. You’ve been more hesitant than usual in the field, hanging back. You’ve been wearing that corset.” His eyes dart to the steel armored corset she’s taking with her everywhere nowadays. “What are you worried about, Love?” _

_ Her fists clench at her sides to resist the urge to resist the urge to rest them against her abdomen. She doesn’t trust that Waller doesn’t have ears everywhere or eyes. And she has no idea how this development will play out. It’s not like she knows what Waller does to pregnant agents. “Can you just drop it, Oliver?” _

_ It’s a futile question. He’s worried about her. He  _ loves  _ her. But if he knows, that changes things. It changes  _ everything _. She doesn’t know how to deal with it on her own. She doesn’t know how Oliver will respond. Everyone she loved always left. And now Oliver’s choice isn’t necessarily his own. His choice or not, Oliver will leave. And if by some miracle he stays, she doesn’t know how to accept that either. Because she  _ wants  _ that more than anything she ever wanted before and it scares her, terrifies her. _

_ “You know you can tell me anything, right?” _

_ Tears gather behind her eyelids as Felicity tries to hold back the waterworks. Damn him for caring so much, for being more perfect than she possibly deserves. He’ll want to get them out of here, and he’ll probably sacrifice himself to do it, the fool. She takes a deep breath. If she’s going to tell him, she has to tell him. Now, before it becomes apparent. _

_ Unable to choke out the words around the lump in her throat, Felicity reaches out and wordlessly grabs his hand. Its large and calloused, her hands dwarfed in comparison as she presses their joined hands together against her stomach. Understanding and shock light up his eyes as he stares right into hers. _

_ “Felicity?” Those in his voice is almost too much as it pulls a smile to her lips. He’s trying so hard to suppress his feelings, to push his down. This might be good news if they were anywhere else. But they weren’t anywhere else. They were with ARGUS. This is a dangerous situation. _

_ “I’m not sure,” she whispers softly, “but I think so.” _

_ Too soon the hope fades to worry and Felicity can almost see the smoke streaming out his ears as he thinks. “No one knows?” _

_ She shakes her head. It’s both a question and a statement. No one knows and no one can know. They’re at least agreed on that. Most importantly, Waller can never find out. He squeezes her hand in understanding. _

_ “How far along?” _

_ Felicity bites her lip. This is the tricky part. She has no idea. Well, she has some idea based on all the throwing up but it’s not like she’s been to see a doctor or anything like that. “I’m not sure. I haven’t started…showing…” Her hands rub her flat belly only to realize Oliver’s hand hadn’t moved. _

_ He nods, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin, his mind far away. She squeezes his hand. His eyebrows are drawn together in deep thought, the motion of his fingers falters for a second as his mind comes back to his body. His deep blue eyes meet hers with a stony determination. “We’ll figure this out.” _

_ Felicity squeezes his hand and smiles softly. “I know we will.” _

_ “Smoak! You’re up!” _

_ Her eyes close and her walls slam back up as she turns to the shouting guard. Usually when she’s with Oliver, they give her some space, trusting him more than the rest of the Suicide Squad. Maybe it’s just the awareness that she’s growing another human that’s getting to her. She feels eyes on her all the time now. It’s disconcerting. _

_ She feels Oliver’s eyes on her as she slips into the shower until that line of sight is gone. _

_ The room-temperature water doesn’t soothe her like it typically does after these missions. Today, the shower feels empty, vacant. She gets in and out as fast as she can, like there are eyes on her in the shower today, leaving uneasy trails down her body. She feels the violation of her prison exquisitely today. _

_ She doesn’t even wait for Oliver to finish his own shower before she takes off, moving to her room at a pace just slow enough not to draw attention. Hair still wet, she slips between her sheets and curls inward as if that were enough to protect her unborn child from a cold and heartless world. _

_ She doesn’t want her child born here, not that she doesn’t trust her teammates with a child. They’re surprisingly protective, and she suspects they would be even more so if they knew she was pregnant, but she wants the child to grow up protected, secure, and safe, away from the madness and darkness that rules life with ARGUS. She wants her child to grow up knowing it’s loved and cared for, not caught up in Waller’s crazy mind games. If she keeps her head down, she might out of here, but Waller…Waller wants her too much to let her go when her time is served, and that scares the living daylights out of her. _

_ Waller will use this to her advantage if she finds out. For an unthinkable moment when she first started to suspect, Felicity considered terminating the pregnancy. For one untenable second she considered it, and it still leaves a sick feeling whenever she remembers that. Her own mother brought her into a harsh world, but Felicity never felt unloved. And she won’t let this child feel the same. As soon as she had known, the child had felt real to her. Still, she won’t let any child of hers be used as a pawn. _

_ The only solution she can find is to create her perfect human automaton. She needs it to replace her, to replace Oliver, to impersonate them long enough for them to run away, to find their quiet corner of the world and  _ live.

_ Felicity pulls the blanket closer around her to fight off a chill. The chances of that happening before Waller finds out about the pregnancy are slim, very slim. It’s likely she already knows or at least suspects. Waller knowing scares almost as much as Joker finding out. As surprising as it might be, she would trust Tatsu and Lawton with this. They’re probably the closest people she has to friends right now. _

_ Could she make it through this pregnancy while still being on the Squad? _

_ The thought makes her feel hollow. She couldn’t survive it. It would kill part of her soul. God, she just needs to talk to Oliver about all of this. If she talks to him, he’ll somehow be able to formulate a plan, she knows it. _

_ As if her thoughts have power, Oliver slinks through her door and into her bed, pulling her into his arms, so his head rests above hers on the pillow now wet from her hair. There, in the dark and quiet, he whispers his thought against her skin: _

_ “I can get us out of here. Do you trust me?” _

_ Felicity pull back to stare into his sincere blue eyes. He’s too good for this place, too good a man to be here with a crew of criminals and murderers. But she knows he’ll guard the two of them until there’s no breath left in his body, until his heart stops beating and beyond. She’s never doubted him and she’s not about to start now. She nods and snuggles closer. “Always. I believe in you.” _

_ He squeezes her closer, hand resting on her abdomen protectively, murmuring in low Russian until Felicity falls into slumber in the sanctuary of his arms.  _

_ …  _

_ Oliver can’t know the plan. Slade’s insistent on that when he reaches out the first opportunity he has to get out of the hell hole the Suicide Squad lives in. Slade promises to get them out, to do  it in such a way that Waller won’t go after them. Oliver knows Slade Wilson well enough to know that it probably involves them dying for at least a moment, something he’s familiar with but not enough to risk Felicity and their child.  _

_ “Don’t worry, Kid. I’ll keep an eye on your girl myself,” Slade chuckles as he points to his one good eye.  _

_ Less than amused, Oliver turns from his drink to glare at his old friend.  _

_ Slade sighs and goes back to his drink. “I’ll have Sara do it. Or Shado. But I have to warn you, this accelerates our timeline. We were counting on another couple months before breaking you out and taking on the White Queen.”  _

_ “I didn’t exactly plan on this,” Oliver growls into his stein of ale.  _

_ “I understand, kid. She snuck up  on you. They do that.” Slade smiles softly, an expression so ill-suited to his scarred face that it’s startling the first time you see it. It’s a look he only gets around Shado, one that took him years to develop as he fought his feelings of attraction. One mention of Shado and the fierce warrior devolves into a cuddly kitten. “We’ll get her out. We’ll get you both out.”  _

_ “Thank you,” Oliver whispers back from his seat two stools away from Slade. It’s a weight of his chest and one less thing for him to worry about. Worry that Waller’s already found out is still a problem, but at least now he knows there’s a plan to get him out.  _

_ “How did you liberate yourself tonight?”  _

_ Oliver’s eyes sweep  the room to a sickly man in the corner,  drowning his sorrows in more than just alcohol. “Waller needed a loose end tied up.”  _

_ Slade’s eyes follow his. “How much proof does she need?”  _

_ “A finger.” Oliver shrugs. “A whole hand would probably be better. He’s one of her scientists, not a soldier.”  _

_ “What did the poor bastard do to get him in trouble?”  _

_ For one, he was a good-for-nothing slob. But that’s mostly heresay from Felicity. Waller has more specific motives. “He stole drugs and didn’t do his job. More to the point, he’s talking about ARGUS, and you  know how Amanda Waller likes her secrets.”  _

_ If the idiot kept his mouth shut, Waller might not have bothered with the lowlife. But he hadn’t. He’s been talking, to a police officer of all things. One who actually decided to take a drunk drug-addled looney at his word and started to poke around some dark corners.  _

_ Oliver doesn’t like these missions, the solo kill missions. He has to admit he’s the best for these kind of jobs, for the quiet, unobtrusive kills. Lawton doesn’t miss a shot, but he’s rarely subtle. Tatsu leaves lots of blood in her wake, and the Joker and Harley are unpredictable and as far from subtle as can be.  As disquieting as it is, he has Waller’s trust. It’s because she claims he’s ‘a man with morals’ and she knows he’ll always get the jobs done. He doesn’t know how to feel about the odd amount of pride he takes in earning Waller’s respect. He knows she’s heinous, but she has a way of making her underlings feel valued. _

_ “He can live without a hand,” Slade says. “We might be able to pick his brain.” _

_ “I doubt he’d provide you with anything useful. According to Felicity, he wasn’t very helpful in the lab, but it’s not going to be easy to get him clean and convince him to keep his trap shut.” _

_ Slade’s look is too knowledgeable for Oliver’s liking. “Oh, worked with Felicity, did he?” _

_ “It’s not jealousy, Slade. The guy’s a prick without any basic survival skills. He’s going to die.” It goes without saying what Waller will eviscerate him, if she ever finds out. _

_ “You won’t be under her thumb much longer, kid. We need you back soon. Blondie is driving me crazy. You’re irksome too, but at least it’s fun to beat you up.” _

_ Oliver chuckles. “You’re just annoyed because they can both give you a run for your money.” He straightens. “I’m not such an easy target myself nowadays.” _

_ Slade’s skeptical rejoinder is lost as Oliver slips through the crowd to slide into his target’s booth. _

_ “Hey…,” he slurs and Oliver’s lip curls in disgust. “I know you.” _

_ “Mr. Connolly,” Oliver says evenly. “Amanda Waller sends her regards.” _

_ “No. N-n-n-no! It wasn’t me! It was that bitch, the criminal! She was always out to get me. She gave me the drugs, forced me to use them It’s her you want!” _

_ Even if he wasn’t talking about Felicity, Oliver would be repulsed by this man. “Waller believes that each man can make his own decisions and that pointing fingers at others is ineffective and self-indulgent.” Oliver leans forward with a predatory smile. “But that’s not why I’m here, Mr. Connolly. No. Waller has sent me here because it’s come to her attention that you’ve made some new friends. That you’re telling them some interesting stories. And we can’t have that now, can we?” _

_ Connolly pales. “I-I-I promise: I won’t tell anyone.” _

_ No one believes that. Oliver’s not even convinced that Slade will be able to keep Connolly quiet. There’s a sixty percent chance that he’s dead within the year. He smiles at Connolly. “You know what, I’m feeling generous today.” The lab scientist looks highly doubtful of that announcement, but with a glimmer of hope. “You look like you’re about to piss yourself, so I’ll make a deal with you: you breathe a word of ARGUS to anyone, and I will kill you, slowly and painfully. Keep your trap shut, and we can forget this ever happened. Got it, Connolly?”  _

_ The man nods eagerly, already inching to the end of the bench and his friend.  _

_ “Not so fast,” Oliver cautions, adding a low growl for the way it makes his prey pale in horror. “First, a drink to seal the deal.” He raises his hand and busty barmaid sweeps over with their drinks and a flirtatious smile for Oliver. He throws her back a wink and slides one stein across the table to Connolly. He shoves his cup against Connolly’s, playing up the raucous, criminal angle.  _

_ He lifts with cup to his lips and guzzles down the contents of his glass, only drinking to convince Connolly he’s not a threat, just  a little drunk. The lab rat, had he known Oliver better, would know that he’s not much of a drinker anymore, especially while on a job. If the lab rat hadn’t been intoxicated himself, he might have realized that Oliver’s cup wasn’t full of ale but a lighter fare. But Connolly was far past the point of even casual observation, so he didn’t even pause to notice the funky taste of his drink as he finished it as quickly as possible and made his escape.  _

_ “Idiot,” Oliver mutters as he finishes his glass at a more sedate pace and tosses a handful of coins on the table. The same barmaid saunters up to his table as Slade slips out the same door Connolly just stumbled through.  _

_ “Anything else I can get for you?” The barmaid leans over the table to give him a sinful view of her bosom.  _

_ In another life, Oliver would have been completely distracted, but now he just smiles. “Not at all, Maryanne. Thanks for the drinks.” He presses a couple extra coins into her hand as he slides from the booth.  _

_ She drops the flirtatious overtures as she slips the coin into her pocket. “Not a problem, love. Be careful out there.”  _

_ Oliver grins. “Not to worry, ma’am. I’ll be fine.” He nods at her and heads out into the quiet cold night.  _

_ He finds Slade and Connolly around the corner, Connolly already slumped over a trash bin down an alley, a line of drool connecting his mouth to the trash. He frowns.  _

_ “How much did you dose him with?”  _

_ Slade shrugs. “Not that much. It wouldn’t have affected you quickly had the drinks been switched. He’s more of a lightweight than I thought.”  _

_ Which isn’t at all surprising, Oliver thinks. Slade is under the impression that everyone has his impressive tolerance for alcohol. The only person he’s seen go toe to toe with the man is Sara Lance, which he still finds hard to believe. Then again, Shado had refused to participate in the “ridiculous victory ritual”. Honestly, Oliver would love to see Slade go up against Lawton.  _

_ For now though, Connolly’s state works to their advantage. He steps forward, pulling a machete from under his coat. He glances back at Slade. “Is Shado here? You know how she hates when we butcher amputations.”  _

_ Slade shrugs. “She’s with her old man tonight. He’s not been doing so well of late. She’ll be back in time to stitch him up.”  _

_ Oliver snorts. “Well, if she gets pissed, you’re taking the fall. I’ve had more than enough punishment slapping those damn bowls of water.” _

_ Slade makes a noncommittal noise as Oliver nudges Connolly with the tip of his boot.  _

_ “He’s out cold. Let’s get this over with.” Oliver swallows the bile that threatens to rise as he crouches down and flattens Connolly’s arm on the ground. Carefully, he ties a tight tourniquet around the man’s upper arm to cut of blood to the extremity. _

_ This, right now, is the worst part. In battle, everything is kill or be killed. Even most of the Suicide Squad missions, the violence can be firmly categorized as self-defense or self-preservation. But this? This is premeditated maiming. It’s up there with torture. It’s expected of him when he works for Amanda Waller.  _

_ The blade swings down with a sickening squelch. Oliver tries not to think about where is blade gets stuck as he wrenches it back and slams it back down, sawing through the tendons and bones. His hand grows sticky with warm blood as it starts to dry on his skin.  _

_ Dispassionately, he stares at the severed hand for a moment and then wraps it in a cloth and throws it in a bag for Waller. He steps back from the body, moving to the edge of the alley as Slade moves to stem the bleeding.  _

_ All around them, the city lives on, oblivious of the crime taking place right under their noses. They’re not in a pretty part of town, with the gutter rats of humanity, in a place where you don’t walk alone at night without good reason.  _

_ Oliver’s been thinking a lot about his prior life these last couple days. He guesses knowing he’s going to be a father is making him introspective. He’s been so far removed from that lifestyle for years that it feels like he was a completely different person.  _

_ Oliver of old wouldn’t have been caught dead within ten blocks of this place. He would have been repulsed by the rats skittering from dark corner to dark corner. The pickpockets and beggars would have been a source of his amusement. He wouldn’t have seen past the shabby exterior to the faces hidden beneath the filth. The whole underbelly was under his observation.  _

_ Now those same shadows were his home.  _

_ He’s terrified, if he’s being honest, of infecting a child with that darkness. Just considering that shakes him to his core.  _

_ But he also knows Felicity. Her life was nothing like his, probably as far from it as she could get. He had money to do whatever he wanted, she had to struggle for what she could get her hands on. Yet, she is a source of brightness and love in his life where he always seems to be shrouded in shadows. Darkness clings to him, but she can chase it away.  _

_ Even when they’re waist deep in gore and blood, she can make him smile. It’s rare.  _

_ “You okay, kid?”  _

_ Oliver blinks back to his surroundings as he turns back  to his former mentor with a gruff nod. “I’ll see you on the other side.”  _

_ Slade catches his forearm in the brace of a handshake. “Make sure you come back to us, kid. Taking down Waller isn’t the end of this.”  _

_ He grins. “You think I’d let you do this alone?”  _

_ The ‘don’t do anything stupid’ warning is tacit, implied in the worry around the edges of Slade’s eyes before they break contact with Oliver’s. Taking him off the team before the original plan is risky, riskier still is pulling Felicity out with him. It wasn’t the original plan.  _

_ The original plan was a joke. That become apparent within three seconds of Oliver’s capture. It was supposed to be simple: infiltrate ARGUS and take down Doctor Anthony Ivo after he’d experimented on Yao Fei, Shado’s father.  _

_ It was their mistake: they’d underestimated Amanda Waller. They got rid of Ivo, but it was clear Waller was the bigger fish. Oliver’s been doing this for almost two years. It’s time to come home.  _

_ He takes a deep breath and starts back to base.  _

_ Maybe this time, everything can go according to plan.  _

_ But then, when does the first plan ever work?  _

_ …  _

_ It’s miserable out, too cold and too wet for one of Waller’s suicide missions. _

_ Oliver spares a quick glance over his shoulder at the steam-engine Felicity crouches behind before firing off another arrow at the approaching soldiers. He has time to breathe between shots, his use of arrows making his opponents nervous. It’s an outdated weapon, a relic underestimated by most until he kills his first opponent in one shot. _

_ The blueprints for the machine Felicity’s currently disabling are shoved in his jacket for protection against the weather. Maybe it’s the cold water running down his face, maybe it’s the nagging feeling that he’s forgetting something, but anxiety is Oliver’s companion. With his bow in hand, he’d nearly invincible. _

_ It’s Felicity. She’s fifty feet away from him, and more than four months pregnant with their child. Every time they head into the field together he struggles to not to tie her to his side. He wants to protect her more than anything, but he also knows the most obvious thing he can do is act more overprotective. It will raise Waller’s suspicions. It’s a miracle they’ve slipped under her radar thus far. _

_ “Mission Accomplished, White Queen!” Felicity reports in his ear.    _

_ Oliver relaxes, the tension in his shoulders dissipating on an exhale as another arrow flies from his bow. Finally, they can get out of here. _

_ Lightning crackles through the air, lighting up two soldiers that had gotten past him. “Ready to go, Robin Hood?” Felicity calls through the radio static of his headset. _

_ Internally, Oliver winces as he reaches for another arrow. Those two soldiers could have gotten Felicity, he should have been more aware of his surroundings. He’s slipping. He runs his fingers over the fletchings of the arrows he has left in his quiver. And he’s got three shots left before he has to switch gears and move to hand to hand combat. There’s too many of them. He can’t protect her and get himself out too. _

_ For a brief moment when they landed, he’d thought he might have seen Slade. After all, he’d had the opportunity to warn Slade about this little mission. He thought this would finally be it, the way they got out. He had hoped, but if Slade hasn’t shown himself yet, there is no assistance coming. Not from him and not from Waller. _

_ Even if he is her best agent. _

_ “Get out of here, Clockwork,” he growls into the radio. He’s going to have to find a gun. He loathes that he needs one, but his priority has been and always will be Felicity. Still he has to say something, to remind her why she’s more important right now, why her survival means more than his own. “We both know we’re not getting out of here together.” _

_ He’ll do everything he can to get out of here too. He has something to live for after all. This isn’t him dying. This is him giving her a sure way out, her and their child. _

_ “If you’re not leaving, I’m not leaving.” _

_ God, he loves his woman, loves her selfless heart, her brain, her everything. It’s foolish of her to offer, an insane offer at the very least. They both know she’s not just putting herself in danger any more. There’s a baby to consider. But he also can’t let her stay. He can’t. _

_ He’s about to tell her just that, to point out the flaw in her plan, when she screams. _

_ “OLIVER!” _

_ It chills the blood in his veins, paralyzes him for a split second. In that instant, his worse fears come to light. She’s screaming because she got shot, he’s lost her and their unborn child in an instant. Just the image has him acting, spinning so he can see her, can assure himself that she is alive and well, to defend her against whatever threat is coming. _

_ Only the threat isn’t to her. Her eyes are wide in terror, staring at something just past him, _

_ Oliver spins, drawing an arrow as he does. He stops, his eyes level with the muzzle of a gun. He doesn’t have to process before there’s a loud BANG and his world goes black. _

_ …  _

_ Pain. _

_ Unimaginable pain. _

_ Everything Felicity feels is pain. _

_ The last thing she remembers is pulling herself from the river, a stabbing pain in her back. Before that only misery as Cooper shot Oliver. _

_ It burns. _

_ His loss, it kills her. She keeps reliving the moment in her head, the instant Cooper shot Oliver in the head. It haunts her, chases her through the night, and jolts her awake when she finally gets rest. It’s the star of her fevered dreams for days after the incident. _

_ When she finally comes to completely, she’s sprawled on a scratchy mattress. A ceiling of wooden slats stares back at her. It’s not her dingy cell, at least. Felicity pushes herself into a seated position. Her body aches with each movement, more than any of her training sessions with Oliver or Floyd. _

_ “Oh, good, you’re awake.”                                                                         _

_ Felicity slowly twists to stare at the man who spoke. He towers in the doorway, his head almost brushing the top of the door. His muscles are out of this world, bulging against his shirt, in contrast to the small child cradled in his arms. _

_ “Don’t move too much. I didn’t have much in the way of supplies, but I patched you up.” _

_ “You saved my life,” she says. _

_ “You should lay back down.” _

_ Felicity complies with a groan, easing into the bed. “Thank you.” She eyes the man as he sets a bundle down beside her bed and starts pulling out tools she vaguely recognizes as medical _

_ “You were shot. I was able to stem the bleeding, but the bullet is still inside.” _

_ That doesn’t sound good, but Felicity has other concerns. “Are you a doctor?” She doesn’t want to doubt the man. Her certainly  _ looks _ like he knows what he’s doing. He handles the tools before him with a grace borne of familiarity.  _

_ He snorts. “A surgeon. Not that you’ll see me working much of anywhere.”  _

_ “No offense, doc, but I’m not a huge fan of doctors cutting people open.” She shivers at the thought of Anthony Ivo holding a knife over her and her hand involuntarily lands on her lower abdomen where a soft bump is just starting to show beneath the skin.  _

_ “I need to get that bullet out. Who knows what it could have done to your spinal cord.” The surgeon pauses as his eyes land on her hands. “The child is okay.”  _

_ Felicity starts. Instinct screams at her to run away, to protect her child with her life, that anyone who knows about the baby is a danger to them both. But her body hurts too much to move. Instead she just nods, fingers gripping the fabric of her shift.  _

_ “My wife is a midwife of sorts,” he explains softly, as if comforting a frightened animal. “She said you’re roughly six months along. Is that right?” _

_ She shrugs helplessly, as if the movement doesn’t cause her intense pain. “I don’t know.”  _

_ He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. “That may complicate things.” _

_ “What about the bullet?” Felicity asks softly, reigning in her fear with short breaths as her rational brain tries to sort through everything she can do, everything that needs to be done.  _

_ The doctor’s warm brown eyes meet hers, face grim. “I can’t pull it out. Not without endangering the child, but it can’t stay inside either. It could be doing untold damage to you. Lyla’s in town, checking on one of the women in the village at the moment. She should be back before supper.”  _

_ “Lyla?” She’s focusing on the detail right now because she knows that as soon as she slows down, she will succumb to the terror and pain, the numbness.  _

_ “My wife.”  _

_ Felicity nods, eyes staring at the ceiling as she closes her eyes. It hits her again, with renewed force: Oliver is  _ dead _ , and with him any chance of her living out a happy life. For a brief time it was all there at her fingertips.  _

_ “Where are we?” She asks weakly. She needs to fight falling into despair, as hard as that might be. She’s alive and without a bomb collar. That should count for something.  _

_ “A little town in the  North.”  _

_ “The North of where?”  _

_ He looks at her funny. “America. Just south of the Canadian border.”  _

_ “Has anyone come looking for me?” She needs to know, to prepare. If ARGUS knows she’s alive, then they’ll be searching for her. If she’s dead on the other hand...then she might be able to get away clean, to protect her and her child,  provided nothing was wrong.  _

_ “The father? Is he after you?” Did he do this to you?  _

_ The last question is unasked, hanging in the air between them. A painful sob tears from her throat at the thought of Oliver. “No. No,” the last words burst out, grating like glass even as she forces them out. She needs to speak,  to say these words out loud so she can make them real to her overwhelmed and overworked mind: “He’s dead.”  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he says, genuine sympathy in his expression.  _

_ Felicity swallows thickly. She knows how to deal with death. She’s experienced far too much death in her life. “He was shot.” She can’t get out any more, so she changes the subject. “How long was I out?”  _

_ “You were in and out of it for almost a week.”  _

_ “A week?” Felicity stares at the ceiling in despair.  A week where she should have been aware, should have been awake, should have been...something…  _

_ “You were feverish. In and out of consciousness. You finally stabilized this morning.”  _

_ He rests a hand on her forehead. Felicity’s eyes fly open in surprise, latching on to the good doctor’s.  _

_ “You should rest some more,” he whispers. “When Lyla gets back, we’ll talk about what to do next.”  _

_ Felicity nods, too tired to fight, too weighed down by melancholy to keep her eyes open. As blackness welcomes her back into its embrace she remembers to ask one last question: “What’s your name, doc?”  _

_ She thinks she hears a smile in his voice as he responds, but she’s not certain she hears correctly either because surely his name couldn’t be Diggle.  _

_... _


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

“Trusting them is not wise.”

Felicity rolls slightly back from the window where she sat watching the Merlyns disappear back into the foggy Starling night. She glances over her shoulder to meet John’s blank stare and crossed arms. He’s not wrong. “I trust them more than Malcolm Merlyn. They don’t realize it yet, but their emotions guide them as much as Malcolm’s greed dominates his decisions.”

John snorts. “You know the reports on them. I thought you didn’t like working with murderers.”

The irony in that doesn’t escape her, or either of them, as she maneuvers her chair to face John Diggle, her trusted friend, more fully. “I don’t like working with murderers who might kill me.” There’s a difference.

“And how are you so sure they won’t? Lyla and I are good, but we’re not trained assassins.”

No, their skills lie more in defense and open combat. Although their life experiences leaned a little more toward assassinations and coups, but she wasn’t about to point that out because John did have a point. They didn’t have the tools to deal with two assassins trained by Al Saher. The Magician was known for his mastery and cunning. The Black Siren and The Dark Archer were the safer options because they were emotional. If she hadn’t been sure, tonight would just have confirmed it.

“Did you see them tonight, Digg? He’s hopelessly in love with her.” Thomas Merlyn had practically collapsed upon hearing his wife would be alright, had been on the verge of shattering had she died. He felt indebted to them for saving her life.

“And her? She’s known to be ruthless.”

Felicity drums her fingers on the armrest of her chair. “Laurel Merlyn acts out her vengeance, but only when a woman has been taken advantage of. If necessary, I will share with her my   
history with Cooper.”

“I would caution you further but you appear to have made up your mind.”

“He murdered the love of my life, John, shot him - point blank - right before my eyes, after turning me over to Waller at the cost of his own freedom. He doesn’t deserve to live.” Anger fuels   
her arms as she pushes herself out of the main room. The years can’t dull this raw pain she feels at the mere allusion to Oliver. It festers, putrefies with each reminder. Everything that went wrong - from Oliver’s death to her paralysis - is Cooper’s fault, and she won’t let him get away, not when we’re this close, despite John’s reservations.

She finds herself rolling into the kitchen in search of Lyla’s chocolate stash.

“He’s right, you know.”

Felicity pops a piece of mint chocolate into her mouth before turning to face her other friend. “Is that a Diggle thing or did he learn it from you?”

Lyla smiles softly. “Oh, he learned it from me.” She grabs her own piece of chocolate and sits on a kitchen chair. She looks worn from a long day, wisps of hair escaping from her updo. “You shouldn’t be so easy in your trust.”

“Your concern is noted, both of yours, but this is my path.” Felicity breaks a piece of chocolate with   
unnecessary force and sighs at the brown stains on her fingers. “If it gets too dangerous, I’ll send you to the countryside. You’ll be safe there.”

“John’s not going to like that.”

Felicity purses her lips. “I figured as much, but it’s necessary.”

“If it comes down to it, he’ll stay here with you. We’ve talked about it.”

“That’s not ne-“

“It’s happening,” Lyla says simply. “We’re family now, Smoak. Have been since he dragged you out of that river half-frozen and pregnant. You do what you have to for family.”

Felicity leans back with a sigh, closing her eyes against the wave of emotion. She’s never looked for anything that resembles family, but somehow people keep worming their way into her heart, as if she attracts them to her. There’s no good that will come from fighting Lyla on this point, or John for that matter. They’ll agree to work with the Merlyns, even if they are big scary assassins. They trust her judgment in most things, but they also like being prepared.

“The two of you are trouble.” Felicity throws her hands up in exasperation and wheels away in a futile effort to hide the depth of her feelings for the Diggles. They were there for her in her darkest hours. They became her family after that, with all the annoying caring that came with it.

It’s both the worst thing in the world and the best.

She rolls back out past John with a glare she doesn’t mean. “You are the worst.”

He smirks as Felicity rocks to a stop in the middle of the hallway, inexplicably reminded of that morning she woke up in their house with a scary and uncertain future. She turns to look back at him. “I do know,” she says, “that you’re just worried about me, but I need to do this.”

John nods. “You helped me find Andy’s killer. We couldn’t have done it without you. We’re going to be here with you for it all.”

Felicity swallows. She doesn’t know how to say it, how to convey her thanks for what they’ve given her. It’s not in her nature to say thanks, it’s not who she is, so she just nods before resuming the path to her apartments.

Her room is large, larger than she finds necessary save for the space she needs for her wheelchair. Fatigue seeps into her bones, slowing her movements as Felicity prepares to sleep. It’s labor-intensive, moving around and changing clothes when he legs are nothing more than dead weight. It’s easier with help, but Felicity’s too headstrong. So she wrestles with her skirts, and the corset, lifts herself to scoot from her clothes one bit at a time.

As is her custom, she leaves her bloomers and chemise to sleep in. In the morning, she’ll either enlist Lyla’s assistance or attach the neural network so she can walk herself. The device in question – or one of them – sits on her bedside table, waiting to be used. It’s temptation. She wants to use it, but with each use, it becomes less effective. It’s over-stimulating her nerves.

Highly problematic.

Felicity crawls into bed and situates her legs with a sigh. Tonight is one of those nights where she questions her every life choice, every decision and wonders what she could have done different, where exactly her life went wrong, what caused her to lose the use of her legs. It’s been happening more and more often as she’s gotten closer to Cooper.

But in the end, there’s nothing she would change.

If she killed Cooper before he turned her over, she would never get to know Oliver. The choices she could have made after that, as a member of the Suicide Squad, were limited, and she steadfastly refused to reconsider her decision to start a physical relationship for Oliver. The only mission she really could focus on was the final one. Despite her best contemplations, despite the moment to moment analysis of her actions, she has to admit there isn’t anything she could change without the advantage of foresight. Everything had been done by the book.

They went in following Oliver’s plan. It was flawless, and she trusted him without question. When she left him to destroy the machine, she didn’t dawdle, didn’t waste unnecessary time. She knows Oliver too well to doubt that he acted the same. The battle that followed left room for doubt in her actions, but fighting wasn’t her specialty. She’d done her best until she saw her chance to run.

If she hadn’t run, she and her baby could have died – would have definitely died. There was no choice to make on that front. 

So, basically, even if she could change the past, she wouldn’t. No, all she could do was get her well-calculated revenge. Cooper would die, and he would know that she was the person behind it, that it was all for the love that he stole from her, ripped from her hands and murdered in cold blood. Cooper’s death would be slow and painful.

She hopes he begs. 

… 

He’s a coward. Oliver’s more than ready to admit it as he throws himself into yet another spar with the training dummy moments away from losing another arm. He’s already shattered one of the wooden posts sticking out of the base with one frustrated strike. Slade was long gone, departed to his day job, the legal one that enabled him to open doors for their nightly operations. 

Cooper had made himself scarce. The two of them, as the officially dead members of their little group, had to stay underground during the day, or at least out of sight of anyone who might recognize them. Today it appears the little leech realized he should stay out of Oliver’s way. It was a good instinct. He’s been a hair from punching Cooper for the last three years, and his current mental state is making the required self-restraint hard. 

He could have done this differently, could have sought Sara out last night, explained to her what happened with Laurel, held her as she cried...instead he chickened out. He’s hiding down here. Instead of sneaking through the streets and telling Sara before she heard from someone else, he’s here waiting for her to find him, to come storming down the stairs and scream at him. He deserves nothing less. 

_ Crack! _

Oliver steps back, breathing hard to stare at the post now handing off the punching dummy. He glances at his worn leather gloves and the intricate gears lovingly installed on the outside of the gauntlet, designed to allow him to inflict maximum damage without injury to his person. They had been a gift from Felicity when he bruised his knuckles after a particularly brutal mission. 

They’re dented now, polished with love and cared for as best as he can, but still worn from years without mechanical care. Cooper offered to take a look once, but the thought of him touching anything Felicity created makes his stomach churn. 

He slips the gauntlets off and lays them on his worktable. For a moment, he can imagine her standing beside him, a babble on her lips as she scolds him for abusing her baby. He’d watch her as she tampered with them, a mutter to match each flurry of movement. He would watch her, fascinated by each gesture filled with the grace of well-practiced movements. Or he would turn to his own tools, craft his arrows interrupting her when he need help with the mechanics. 

Those days were his beacons of serenity, those tiny moments where they just were. Those moments where he imagined the life they could have had. 

“I can’t believe it!” 

Oliver starts at the shout and the accompanying slam of the solid, metal door to their headquarters. It’s time to face Sara’s fury. He takes a deep breath and turns away from his work station. “Sara-” 

“Laurel is pregnant!”  the blonde continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “Can you believe that? I can’t.” 

“Laurel?” Oliver’s heart plummets, his insides freezing as the memory of waking up and finding that Felicity and their unborn child had died in their failed rescue attempt. 

“Yeah,” Sara snorts as she tosses her coat over the back of a chair and starts unfastening her skirts. “Apparently that’s what the hoopla was about when she left the ball early last night. She’s pregnant.”

Oliver’s hand curls into a fist. He can’t let her keep going like this, not when he killed her sister. “Sara, we need to talk about Laurel…” 

But she doesn’t hear him. “If it was just gossip, I would understand because she will use any excuse to get out of the public eye-” 

“SARA! Laurel is dead!” Oliver winces in the silence that follows his words. He hadn’t intended to be that blunt. He just can’t continue listening. It brings back too many painful memories, too many fantasies of the life he and Felicity might have had. He didn’t just kill Laurel last night. He killed her unborn child and now he has to live with that knowledge. 

He sighs in the silence, unable to look at Sara as he continues. “I ran into her last night. She killed a serving girl and I had to step in. I tried not to kill her, I swear, Sara, but she took me by surprise. She was a good fighter, better than I anticipated and it forced my hand...if I had known…” If he had known she was pregnant, he wouldn’t have taken that kill shot. He would have run… 

“What are you talking about?” 

Oliver turns toward Sara’s incredulous voice, guilt weighing down every word. “I killed Laurel, Sara.” 

“Oh, I heard you the first time,” she says, “but why do you think you killed her?” 

He frowns. “It was a direct hit to the abdomen. There’s no way she could have survived.” 

“Well, you missed then because I saw her not an hour ago in her sitting room.” 

“What?” That’s not possible. He knows he didn’t miss. He’d seen the growing pool of her blood. 

“She told me herself she was pregnant, Oliver. I don’t know what happened, but whoever you killed wasn’t Laurel.” 

Oliver shakes his head. “No. It was Laurel...there’s no way she can be alive.”

“I assure you she is very much alive. As to pregnant, I’m still dubious. I think she’s just pretending to please Mother.” 

Oliver wishes he could just agree with Sara, that he had seen someone else in that hallway, but he can see her face with perfect clarity every time he closes his eyes. He’d recognized that chocolate hair, the brown of her eyes that had once been full of warmth but were iced over with hatred. He remembers her voice. It shouldn’t be possible unless someone got to her right away, and not just anyone, but a doctor. 

“Are you absolutely sure?” Oliver asks again. “It couldn’t have been someone posing as Laurel?” 

“I don’t know what happened last night, Oliver, but I promise you my sister is alive. What were you even doing at the Restons?” 

“Tracking that signal Cooper found.” Oliver pauses. Could that have something to do with this whole thing? Cooper hadn’t thought the signal was related to the Merlyn plot, but it had turned up a couple places where they were working. What if the source of the signal had come to Laurel’s rescue? “Did Laurel seem out of it? Injured?” 

Sara rolls her eyes. “Like most pregnant women, Laurel has morning sickness. If you hit her where you claim, I wouldn’t be able to tell. But Laurel doesn’t fight like we do. She fights with her words.”  

His memory is distinctly different, but Oliver holds his tongue. He doesn’t think he’s wrong, but it doesn’t really matter right now because its a moot point. “So did the police find the body?” 

“Yeah, the maid and Kyle Reston. The inspector said it was a murder-suicide.” 

Oliver frowns. Something definitely happened after he left. There’s no way the scene looked like that before he disappeared. “I’m going to need to see that report.” 

Sara tilts her head at him. “Okay, what’s up, Ollie?” 

“There’s just something about this that doesn’t add up.” His fingers rub together, something to keep his body occupied while he thinks. 

They’ve been going after Malcolm Merlyn based on the intelligence they’ve gathered from his father’s journal and from Amanda Waller. They know he has a plan to solidify his power in Starling. They’ve been taking out his contacts, his men on the inside. 

Those confrontations started to put them in contact with a mysterious signal, a signal so advanced that Cooper hadn’t noticed it at first. Then it started popping up everywhere. Oliver didn’t understand the nuances - mostly because he doesn’t really listen to a word Cooper says - but it seems someone is tracking them. And they still haven’t figured out how. 

Now, they have Merlyns killing people in galas. 

Something’s coming, something they might not be prepared for.

He really needs that police report.

…

Laurel closes her eyes against another flare of dull pain, a coursing discomfort. She should be relieved to only feel that. She should have died last night, she expected to die. Instead she finds herself saved and the course of her future changed. 

She shifts in her seat, glaring at Thomas as her mother fusses with the pillows behind her.

“You need to relax, dear. You’re carrying precious cargo!”

Laurel smiles tightly to her mother. Of course, that’s what this is all about, the fact that she’s pregnant. Or rather that’s what her mother thinks, and there’s nothing she can do to rush her mother out of here. Now that she’s pregnant, her mother seems to think her place is right at her side, fluffing the damn pillows.

“And to think I was here just the other night and you let me lecture you when all the time you were pregnant! You know, you can tell your mother all about it.”

The last thing she wants is to talk about such things with her mother. “It's just very early in the pregnancy, Mother. We didn’t want to cause alarm if something went wrong.” She hopes the clear dismissal will divert her, but she hopes in vain.

“Of course, but that only applies to outsiders. We’re family.” Dinah Lance plows on, heedless of the looks her daughter and Thomas are sharing over her head. “I’ve been thinking: for the duration of this pregnancy, I should stay here, with you. To help.”

“No.” Laurel speaks without thought, immediately rejecting the idea. 

“What she means, Mother,” Thomas quickly interjects, “is that we don’t want to impose on you.” 

“Oh, it would be no problem,” Dinah simpers with a smug smile for her son-in-law. “I would be happy to help.” 

“But we have more than enough help,” Thomas counters. Laurel notices for maybe the first time how much his public facade is grating around her mother. His fingers twitch at his side, reaching almost instinctively for the dagger stashed in his boot. 

Laurel heedless of the pain in her abdomen grabs Thomas’s hand and squeezes it. The smile she offers her mother is strained as she says, “We’ve already hired three more servants to help around the house, and we both know you need to focus on Sara’s future. Doesn’t she have a good number of suitors lined up for this season?” 

Sara won’t be happy about the change of subject, but she has to capitalize on the fact that her mother was less than pleased with Sara’s abrupt disappearance earlier. She claimed to be going dress shopping with a friend and her mother, an excuse that might have pacified Mrs. Lance if it hadn’t been the third time this week. While Laurel might applaud her sister for slipping from their mother’s grasp, their mother moving in was out of the question. Her and Thomas had lives to live, and a pregnancy to fake, which would be impossible with the Lance matriarch in residence. 

Dinah sighs. “That sister of yours is a troublemaker. She hasn’t shown any favor to any of her suitors. Has she talked to you about it, dear?” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mother. Are you sure? Surely she’s demonstrated some preference?” Lord knows her sister is a wild child. Dinah Lance is either too blind to see it, or willfully ignorant of Sara Lance’s escapades. Or perhaps she doesn’t think that Sara leaving coat closets with other women, their hair in disarray, is something to worry about. Laurel, on the other hand, knows exactly what her sister is doing. And it’s not confined to women. 

Her sister is just a good deal sneakier than most of the young women of society. 

“I did think she was partial to Mister Bowen.” Dinah sighs and grabs Laurel’s hand. “Would you talk to her, darling? Perhaps she’ll listen to you. Tell her to get serious about this, to pick a suitor?” 

The smile she summons feels almost sickly with its sweetness. “Of course, Mother.” 

“I’m sorry, Dinah, but Laurel and I have an appointment to keep,” Thomas interrupts with a small smile. “With the doctor,” he adds when Dinah’s eyes narrow in suspicion. It immediately smoothes out. 

“Oh, of course! You want to make sure everything’s alright. Let me just get out of your hair then!” 

“Goodbye, Mother.” Laurel lets her mother press a kiss to her cheek. 

“It was wonderful to see you, Dinah,” Thomas adds, sweeping her from the room. Her mother manages to talk him into sending an update on Laurel’s condition as soon as they’re finished at the doctor before she finally departs. 

Laurel sighs, closing her eyes to savor the wonderful silence that heralds her mother’s exit. The lack of talk is serenity itself. As tension leaves her body and her muscles unclench, the pain dissipates. She lifts her hand to her stomach. She had foregone the corset today to avoid irritating the stitches. 

She barely had time to talk to Thomas about what happened last night before her mother and Sara appeared, eager to learn the truth of the pregnancy rumors. The journey home was a blur, a fog of a rocking carriage and muttered words. 

“Are you well?” 

She opens her eyes slowly to smile at her worried husband. “I’m far better than I should be. Care to tell me what happened?” 

“You were attacked-” 

“Yes, I remember that part,” she interrupts, annoyed at his avoidance of the subject, “in vivid clarity. But that hit should have killed me.” 

Thomas sighs and sits across from her. “There was a woman. She saved your life.” He takes a deep breath. “VIRUS.” 

Laurel stills, annoyance fading into curiosity. “VIRUS? You met her? Not one of her toys?” 

Thomas’s face takes on a far away look as his jaw works out his own annoyance in little twitches of involuntary muscle spasms. “Yes. Apparently, she’s close to Roy.” 

“Roy? Harper?” Laurel scowls. She’ll murder the boy, if he’s not dead already. A spy! Under their roof! 

“Peace, dear,” Thomas sighs. “I’ve agreed to work with her. She knows where Father’s device is, and she wants revenge on those who took it.” 

“So in return for your help, she didn’t let me die. How kind…” She already doesn’t like the woman, even if they’ve never met. 

“It wasn’t quite like that,” Thomas sighs. “We agreed to work together before last night. “She found you before I did. Without her intervention, you would be dead.”

Laurel averts her eyes from the emotion she sees in the depths of Thomas’s intense eyes. She almost died last night and it got to him. Their lives were blissfully emotion-free, but she had felt the draw before now to seek comfort in the man she married. Now, she has to fight that desire to stay in her seat. “Thomas - “ 

“She sent word this morning. We’re to meet at her home.” 

He stands. “If you’re not well enough, stay, rest, but I would appreciate if you could watch my back.” 

The quiet tone he uses, pulls her attention away from the sunlit street and back into their morning sitting room. He doesn’t speak to her like this, not like she’s delicate and he’s scared of losing her. He doesn’t ask her for back-up. He watches his own back and trusts her to take care of herself. This worry is unsettling and unprecedented. He’s  _ asking _ her to protect him, something she’s done since he saved her, something he’s never had to ask her to do before. 

Suddenly their relationship seems to be taking a new turn. 

But she can’t deny him anything, especially not this. 

She nods. “Alright. When do we leave?” 

… 

“I’ve found him!” 

Thomas pauses in the doorway of VIRUS’s house at the shout, blinking down at the woman grinning up at him from her wheelchair. He’d expected the housekeeper from the night before, not the woman herself. 

Laurel peeks around his shoulder at the announcement and blinks at the woman in shock. “You’re…” 

“Felicity. Smoak.” VIRUS smiles wide and wheels back. She spins with precise movements and starts for the back of the house. “Come on in! Close the door behind you. Lyla took Mia out to the park so it’s just me and Digg and the moment.”

“Digg?” Laurel mouths at Tommy as she walks past him into the house. It’s as grand as it looks on the outside, not quite as lavish as Merlyn Manor which Malcolm maintains with no expense spared, but certainly better off than the Lance’s own humble abode. The only odd thing appears to be how far back the  house goes. 

“He’s her manservant-” 

“Friend,” Felicity cuts off as they enter the backroom. “John Diggle is my friend and a good doctor. He saved your life.” 

Thomas glances at the black man in the corner. The man had called himself her manservant, had claimed she was the one in charge, that he was just the help. It seems Felicity Smoak tells a different story.  

“We both know that’s how society sees it, Miss Smoak.” John wipes his hands on a rag to rid himself of some grease. 

“Well, that’s how it is. I see no reason to hide it.” Felicity scowls at him. “If they’ve got a problem with it, I’ll find someone else to help me deal with Cooper.” 

Thomas shakes his head, walking further into the room. He doesn’t know what half the gadgets in this room do, and he’s not sure he could wrap his mind around it if he did. There’s a funny shaped box that looks vaguely familiar, as if he’s seen it before… 

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” 

He twists to look at Miss Smoak. 

“It looks like a console, but it’s got a nasty habit of...infesting the user.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Thomas withdraws his hand, remembering the first woman he saw killed by her device. From the  look on her face, he doesn’t doubt that she would kill him, or else he would be her puppet. That’s not something he wants. 

“I suppose I must thank you then, for saving my life,” Laurel says, stepping forward, hand extended. 

John Diggle looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily with a grin. “Just doing my job, Ma’am.” 

Laurel’s hands fist over the sewn up wound on her stomach. “I owe you my life.” 

Thomas clears his throat, uncomfortable with the reminder that without these people his wife would be dead. He’s yet to come to terms with the harrowing truth that he couldn’t save her. He knows he’s indebted to Miss Smoak and Mister Diggle, but it’s not something his pride likes to admit. “You said you found him?” 

Felicity glances at him. “I’ve been tracking them, for the last couple months.” 

“Them?” Laurel asks. 

“Well, obviously he’s not acting alone,” Felicity announces as she spins her chair to face Laurel. “He couldn’t. He’s a weak-willed imbecile when I knew him and that hasn’t changed. No, he’s working with someone, at least two if I had to guess, possibly three. I’ve finally found their hideaway. He led me right to it.” 

“How did you track him?” Laurel asks, glancing around the room. “With a trinket of some sort?” 

Felicity scowls at words. “Trinkets? I don’t deal in anything so trivial, Madame Merlyn. The things in this room are far more advanced than anything you’d see on the streets. You couldn’t conceive of half the things these  _ trinkets _ can do. 

“So,  _ yes _ , I used the  _ technology _ and  _ machines _ in this room to track down your thief. It’s also how I saved your life. I don’t expect you to comprehend everything here, but I do demand respect. These machines do far more than your network of spies. Respect the machines.” 

Thomas sighs. Laurel is not a fan of machines. She prefers people because she can read them. He gets that, but technology is becoming more and more prevalent in their lives. VIRUS just takes it several steps beyond that. 

“You were saying,” Thomas interrupts, “about the thief…” 

Felicity curls her lip at him, seeing through his paltry attempt at changing the subject. “House across town. Nicer neighborhood than the warehouses I expected, but your thief is there. And the  device.” 

“Give us the address and we’ll take care of it.” 

“I don’t think so. I’m going with you.” 

Thomas laughs. “No, you’re not.” When she stares blankly back at him, face a mask of seriousness, he turns to John Diggle for back up. “You reached out for our help. This is why we’re here.” 

Surprisingly, John crosses his large arms over his chest and looks even more immovable than he did a moment ago. “No. You’re here to retrieve your father’s stolen property.” 

“You take out Cooper’s associates, and John and I will get Cooper. You can take your father’s machine. We’re just ensuring our end of the deal is held up.” Felicity grabs a device off the counter and reaches behind her. 

Thomas can’t see what she does, how she uses the device, but the next thing he knows she’s standing with a malicious smirk. 

“Don’t worry. I won’t slow you down. And neither should your wife. She might be a little sore, but the nanites should hold her together just fine, better than fine. They should speed the healing of any other injuries she sustains today.” 

Laurel starts, hand lifting to land on her abdomen. “I can fight?”

Felicity snorts as she stows various gadgets on her person. “Of course. The pain is from the bots healing the injury faster than your body is used to. John patched you up so that the nanites could just bind the tissue together correctly. You’re fine.” 

“I still don’t think this is wise,” Thomas objects. He can take care of the opponents by himself. He can’t do that while worried about any hangers on. 

“His companions are trained combatants. Don’t be an idiot. Laurel, John, and I will accompany you.” With that, Felicity sweeps from the room, pulling on a duster that nearly sweeps the floor and effectively covers the device that keeps her standing upright. 

Thomas glances at Laurel. Maybe she can talk some sense into their crazy new partner, convince her that this is a bad idea. It tops the list of terrible ideas. In fact, it might be the worst he’s heard since this disaster started. 

Laurel grins at him though, oblivious to his mood. “Oh, I like her.” 

Of course she does. 

Not even John Diggle shares his exasperation as they follow Laurel outside to the waiting vehicles. Diggle simply goes about preparing the steam carriage in silence. Thomas climbs into the front seat so he won’t have to endure the current topic of conversation - the origin of Felicity’s steel corset of armor. Instead he sets about gathering his weaponry and checking the fletchings of his arrows. 

His body screams in defiance of his current circumstances. He wants Laurel safe, away from potential danger after watching her wince and cringe all morning. He’d been against her changing into her Dark Siren armor from the start, but he wouldn’t take that choice away from her. But that was just theoretical. He hadn’t realized how much he was hoping VIRUS would sideline her, until  it didn’t happen. 

Thomas sighs. Now he has two women to keep up with… 

It’s going to be a long day.

… 

_ Angelica Sawyer  _

_ Age: 19 years  _

_ Cause of Death: abdominal stabbing. Damage to nails and clothes. Appears to have fought attacker. Signs of vaginal tearing evident.  _

_ Notes: maid in household of Derek Reston. Appears to have been raped by Kyle Reston, eldest son of Derek Reston.  _

Oliver frowns at the page. That was definitely not how he left the scene. She had been stabbed, but unless it happened before he appeared, there had been no rape. It doesn’t fit. 

He turns to the next page of the police file Slade had sent this afternoon. 

_ Kyle Reston  _

_ Age: 23 years  _

_ Cause of Death: Trauma to the abdomen from a blade. Presumed that Miss Sawyer fought back against her attacker. She was unable to save her own life, but she took her attacker with her.  _

Well, he knows for certain that Kyle Reston - despicable as he may be - did not kill Angelica Sawyer. This is a cover up. The next several pages are testimony from various maids and servants that witness Kyle’s unnatural attraction to the young maid, and his unsavory actions toward various member of the household. Nothing in the file is out of place. It’s highly likely that Kyle Reston had, in fact, been a sexual predator, but that didn’t change the fact that  _ he hadn’t killed Angelica Sawyer. _

But someone had wanted it to look like he had. 

And Laurel Merlyn was alive. 

Somehow she was connected. 

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

Cooper tracked his mysterious signal to the Reston’s party, specifically to a threat on Kyle Reston’s life. He hadn’t understood the nuances of Cooper’s triumph, the details about how he had finally managed to track the signal instead of having it track him. Last night he had just needed to hit someone, and Slade didn’t like it when he picked fights with Cooper. 

He stands from his workbench and crosses to Cooper’s hidey-hole.  

“How did you track the signal yesterday?” 

Cooper peeks sideways as he gently lowers a cog on to his latest gadget, which he’ll claim is the greatest thing he’s ever made even though Oliver’s saw Felicity craft far superior gadgets in a fraction of the time. “What?”

“The signal,” Oliver repeats, low and quiet. The calm is forced. Something’s fishy here, and more than one something. “How did you track it? I thought you could barely get a read on it.” 

Cooper shrugs, turning back to his invention. “I couldn’t. Then I had a breakthrough and they got sloppy.” 

“Or they let you track them,” Oliver growls, throwing the file on the counter. “You walked right into their trap.” He could punch the bastard in the face, but he storms from the room instead. “We need to leave now! Grab what you can carry.” 

He pulls on his leather jacket and grabs his gauntlets. On his way over to the case that holds his bow, he flips the switch to send the emergency code through to Slade’s office, to warn him against returning to a potentially unsecure location. 

“You’re worry is unfounded. I took precautions.” Cooper grabs Oliver’s arm. “There’s no way anyone could have tracked us from the signal I sent out.” 

Oliver slings the strap of his quiver across his chest and grabs his bow. “I don’t understand half of the techno babble that comes out of your mouth, but I know any signal can be traced. We were led to that party last night.” 

“You’re paranoid.” 

_ Creeeeeaaaaakkkkk. _

Oliver turns toward the door, the one they purposely keep unoiled to warn of any potential intruders. Slade or Sara would have come in from the front, like they usually did. No, there was someone else here, someone who didn’t know about their security measures. 

He nocks an arrow and edges down the hall toward the faulty door. 

Cooper, thankfully, falls into step behind him and shuts up. 

The lights in the hallway flicker a moment and Oliver pauses. There’s no lightswitch at that end of the hallway, not one that works anyway. He glances back at Cooper. He holds a rip-off of Felicity’s shock gun in his hands that Oliver’s almost sure is going to rebound and hit Cooper himself. So he’s basically on his own. 

The lights go out. 

They definitely have a technology expert. 

Cooper frowns and moves to the control panel, fiddling with wires. The lights behind them cast a shaft of light into the hallway, making the shadows at the end an impenetrable cloak of black. Oliver doesn’t like it. Whoever got in could be standing ten feet away and they wouldn’t see a thing. 

“Turn off the rest of the lights,” he growls as he flips on his voice distorter. His heart rate speeds up with anticipation as he searches the shadow. He hasn’t had a decent fight in ages. He relishes this chance. He needs a fight, one to keep him on his toes. 

“We’ll be blind,” Cooper says. His fiddling increases. 

Movement inside the shadow cuts off Oliver’s angry reply. He releases his drawn arrow at the vanishing movement. It clatters harmlessly into the wall, but something flies out of the depths in response: a black arrow that Oliver narrowly misses as he drags Cooper back around the corner. 

He’d happily let the other man die, but Slade did not condone that. 

_ A black arrow _ . 

“Come out of the shadows, Merlyn, or are you too afraid of an actual fight?!” Oliver slips another arrow out of his quiver and moves into a more ready crouch. 

The dark chuckle that echoes down the hallway is different from Malcolm’s, chilling but not as well-practiced. So it’s not the old man, which is both good news and bad. Good because Oliver isn’t certain he could best Malcolm, but less so because he’s not sure how to face Tommy, his childhood friend and companion. Or they had been friends until Malcolm had twisted him. 

“So you do know who I am. I had wondered. The question is who are you?” 

Oliver straightens against the wall. He wants to move fast and strike quickly. Fighting Tommy while he’s still in the hallway will give Oliver the advantage. Be he can’t be sure that he’s alone. If he throws himself into the open,  he makes himself a target. 

He flips his hood up over his head, a force of habit more than a precaution against identification. If the worst comes to pass, then perhaps the surprise of his survival will give him the element of surprise. 

“How’s your wife?” The taunt sounds false to his ears, bogged down with  his own emotional baggage. He hadn’t intended to hurt Laurel, and he has trouble believing Sara that she is still alive. 

“So you were the one who buried that dagger in my wife’s belly.” 

He’s angry. Good. Perhaps that will make him sloppy. Oliver grits his teeth. He didn’t want this to unravel thus, but if it must he will bear it. 

“I have to repay you for that.” 

Oliver swings around the corner, releasing an arrow where he last heart the voice, but the man in black - Thomas Merlyn - is fast,  just as quick as his father if not faster. His arrow clatters to the ground, deflected by the sweep of a black bow. He moves quickly, ducking the responding blow. This dance is one he’s well familiar with, a lethal waltz. Laurel was a tougher opponent than expected, but they’d fought further apart. In the hallway, the only way to fight is toe to toe. 

Arrows are useless in such close quarters, at least when flown from a bow. Instead they’re used as daggers, the bows as melee weapons. Oliver finds himself grinning despite the gravity of their fight. One of them might die - they’re certainly fighting that way - yet this is the first fight in a long time where his muscles start to ache from use. 

Thomas manages to hand a kick to his chest, sending him sprawling into the middle of the room and breaking the fight out of the confines of the hall. 

He pushes himself from the ground, spitting on the floor. “You’re good. Your wife too. Too bad you didn’t bring her with you.” 

Cooper moves then, jamming his device into Thomas’s neck. Oliver can’t see the spark of lightning from his location, but the effect is immediate. Felicity could dissipate her adversaries in a bolt of visible energy. Cooper’s simply travels through Thomas’s body, shaking him as  if he were a rag doll. 

“NOOOOOO!”

While the shockwave hits Cooper and sends him sprawling, Oliver just falls to his knees, hands clasped over his ears. It seems Laurel did come along for the ride. 

Oliver rolls, barely able to avoid the dagger that comes out of the darkness. “We meet again, my lady.” 

Laurel steps into the light. She flicks a dagger around and around in her hand, the silver blade catches on the light, drawing the eye. “This time you will not be so lucky as to survive.” 

There’s got to be at least one more person lurking in the shadows, the technology expert that managed to infiltrate their system, to lure them into a trap. If they get away, their group will still be in danger. He has to eliminate the threat.  

Oliver doesn’t bother to ask what they’ve come for. This is revenge for the destruction of Malcolm’s plans. It means they are fighting the right fight, pulling the right strings to piss off Malcolm Merlyn. If they can get to Malcolm’s mechanic, they can can put a stop to whatever Malcolm’s plan is. 

He slips inside Laurel’s guard. He dispenses with long range fighting, unwilling to reach a stalemate where he was forced to kill her. It’s easy to get under her guard. Whatever actually happened last night, she’s sensitive of her abdomen. He uses that to get under her guard. A quick jab to her ribs and she reflexively curls inward. 

He lands a hit quickly to the pressure point at the back of her neck, taking his first opening and offering no mercy. He spins back to the shadow as she collapses, another already drawn and ready to be released. 

“You son of a bitch!” 

Oliver’s arrow flies into the shadows, targetless as he refocuses on Tommy, the man having regained consciousness. He’s still shaky from the electricity that coursed through his body, disrupted his nervous system. His anger fuels him. 

Tommy’s blows gain power and dexterity as control of his body returns to him. Oliver can’t defeat him, not without killing him. He can hear Slade calling him a sentimental fool even now as he refuses to have a hand in the murder of his former best friend. 

But he also can’t let them get their hands on Malcolm’s device. 

“Cooper, fall back!” 

The room abruptly falls into darkness. Oliver can’t see his own hand in front of his face, can’t trust his eyes. He can still hear Tommy though, and he has the advantage of knowing their hideout even in the dark. 

Thomas isn’t running away. He’s standing his ground, even if the fight is disjointed and Oliver hears him crash into at least one work table. He contemplates going for a weapon, but it’s too dangerous when he can’t verify who he’s fighting. 

“Do something about these damned lights! You came for a reason didn’t you?” Thomas shouts. 

Oliver grimaces, knowing it’s only a matter of time before the light floods back on. His top priority has to be getting himself and Cooper out of here. They haven’t figured out Malcolm’s device yet, but that doesn’t mean he can’t just blow it up. 

His exploding arrow is aimed at the device just as the lights come on, leaving them all blinking in shock at the abrupt change. Thomas’s bow is aimed at his a moment later, as if that had any effect on his decision to destroy Malcolm’s precious device. 

“Stand down, Greenie, or your friend dies.”

Oliver freezes.  _ No. Not now _ , he wants to scream. He can’t be hearing her right now. It’s happen sometimes in the heat of battle, someone will say something that reminds him of her and there she is in his ear, but that’s not a distraction he can afford right now. “He’s no friend of mine.” 

“But you still won’t let him die,” she taunts. 

God, it sounds just like her, and Oliver can’t help but take his eyes off Thomas to glance over his shoulder. The sight before him makes his heart stop beating in his chest, his breath a forgotten memory as he lowers his bow.  _ It’s not possible _ , his mind argues. Slade and Sara would not have lied to him, not about this. If they claimed Felicity was dead, she must be dead. She can’t…

“The hood.” She holds out her hand, demanding. There are a thousand reasons Oliver can’t take it off - namely that Tommy and Laurel would recognize him immediately - but he reaches for it now. She has to recognize it. She pulled it over his head a thousand times before missions and took it off again once they were safe at base. She knew the story behind it. 

Felicity huffs impatiently, a sound he’s so intimately familiar with it hits him like a punch. She holds up the gun he remembers from their last ARGUS mission and presses it to Cooper’s temple. “You want to know what this will do? It will turn your friend into a pile of ash. It’s not pretty. So just hand over the hood. It’s not yours to begin with.” 

Of course. She’s here with Tommy. There’s a fissure in his heart. He’s here to stop Merlyn, to save the city, and Felicity has been here the whole time, doing who knows what to help his enemy. She’s the one tracking them. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, VIRUS,” Thomas comments, circling so Oliver has fewer escape options. “From what Al Saher described, he fights just like the green archer he met years ago.” 

“It’s not possible,” Felicity says coldly, blue eyes burning into Oliver’s soul. “I watched this piece of scum,” she pokes Cooper with the gun, “shoot him in the head at point blank range, killing my love and the father of my unborn child. For that, he will pay dearly, but first,  _ hand over the hood _ .” 

“It’s not what it looks like!” Cooper protests, despite the fact that his words fall on deaf ears. “I didn’t kill him. I was supposed to get both of you out by making it look like you died-” 

Oliver raises his bow again, pointing it at Felicity despite how physically sick it makes him. “I cannot hand over the hood, just as I cannot let you leave with the Markov device. Malcolm Merlyn will not be allowed to destroy the Glades.” Surprise flashes across her face, a glint in her eyes, the shifting of her finger on the trigger, but he knows all her tells. She wasn’t aware of Merlyn’s plans. He relaxes a hair. “You should learn who you’re working for, Clockwork.” 

He strikes then, as true shock freezes her in place, shooting an arrow past her and into the electrical junction box. His next shot is a trick arrow into the heart of the Earthquake machine as he slides across the floor to grab Cooper. When he straightens, a tall, dark man is in his path, a literal wall of muscle between him and the nearest exit. Each second he wastes is another where the Merlyn’s decide to fight him instead of save the Markov Device. 

“Digg!” Felicity cries. The man turns to the desperate plea and Oliver takes the opening to knock the man out with a solid punch to his jaw. 

Cooper darts ahead of him to the door and the sunlit sanctuary beyond, but Oliver pauses in the doorway. Thomas is staring at the remains of the Markov Device in dismay, while Laurel just looks pissed. But Felicity...Felicity is staring right at him where she sits on the floor, one of his arrows clutched in her hand. He can’t see it, but he knows there’s that furrow in her brow, the one that emerges when she’s thinking. 

So he answers the question and throws back his hood as he steps into the sunlight. Her hand tightens around the arrow in her lap. That one last look is all he gives himself. Now that he knows she’s alive, he will move mountains to get her back. He will find her again. 

The love of his life is alive. 

He  _ will  _ find her again.  _ There’s no other choice to make. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now they know each other is alive!!! What will happen next?!? Are you as excited as I am??? Did you remember this fic existed? 
> 
> But, seriously, thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> There it is! Let me know what you think!


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